KINK
by Cars1
Summary: It's almost summer in Canada, and time for lots of drinking, warm days on the beach, and long, hot nights. Come, join me for a romp through the lives one cocky Edward Cullen, and one opinionated Bella Swan. Rated M ... You know why.
1. Chapter 1

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

Many Thanks to Robbsweetangel, my wonderful Twilighted beta.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, Lattecoug. Much love! Check out her latest story Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend who has once again provided the inspiration for this story. As often happens with most things I write, this came about from a random conversation with MizzezPattinson, this time about a birthday present for her son. Thank you, my dear friend for pre-reading this story, and most of all, for your friendship.

We could all use some fluffy fun, couldn't we? You won't find any long term angst or tears here. There's too much of that in our real lives. It's almost summer in Canada, and time for lots of drinking, warm days on the beach, and long, hot nights. Come, join me for a romp through the lives one cocky Edward Cullen, and one opinionated Bella Swan.

A warning- if you do not like profuse swearing or repeated references to sex, this may not be the story for you. If that doesn't bother you, then come inside and enjoy **_Kink._**

Chapter 1

**_Edward_**

"Fucking hell!" My hand slips for the fourth time as I try in vain to apply gold leaf inlay to Tyler Crowley's fucking cheap mountain bike. I whip the brush across the room in the direction of the closed door to the back office where the primeval sounds of my fucking Neanderthal brother Emmett, and his skank of a girlfriend Rosalie echo above all others.

Okay, so maybe Rose isn't a skank per say. She's better than the last psychotic train wreck Emmett decided to fuck, and she's actually made it through the two week cut without him tossing her to the curb like he usually does. Even though she's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, she doesn't put up with his shit like most of the other doormats he tends to gravitate to. She's actually got a backbone, and I can appreciate that.

What I don't appreciate however, is the fact that they are currently doing God only knows what on the brand new leather sofa in the office- hence the reason why I'm branding her as a skank at the moment.

As the brush makes impact with the door and falls to the floor, I contemplate turning up Metallica on the iPod stereo system to drown them out, but it's already cranked to the max. I glare at the shut door as they continue to fuck each other's brains out before chewing harder on my toothpick to the point that it breaks in half.

The sharp, jagged edge bites into the roof of my mouth, pricking the skin as I swear another blue streak. It's the millionth fucking time that's happened since I decided to quit smoking a month ago.

Right now, I'm wishing I hadn't taken Jasper up on his stupid bet that I couldn't quit for the entire summer. That little brain wave came to him after I started practically coughing up a lung when we were out on a mountain bike trail which he said was, and I quote, "easy."

Yeah, I smoke-a lot, actually. It's one of the ways I deal with stress. Unfortunately for me, I'm never one to turn down a dare, particularly when it involves a special edition bottle of 100 Proof Jack as the prize that Jasper is waving in my face.

Jasper Hale is like a brother to Emmett and I. He's a semi-pro mountain biker, and was our very first customer – well, guinea pig may be a better description. We didn't really know what the fuck we were doing when we first started the bike shop, but somehow, Jasper believed in both of us. Once other riders saw the work we had done to his bike, the business started to boom.

Jasper and his girlfriend, Alice, are permanent fixtures at the shop and in our lives. My parents treat them like their own, partially because neither one of them had what you would like to call an ideal childhood, but mostly because they are two of the most genuine people you'll ever meet. There's no bullshit with Jasper and Alice. They simply tell it like it is. It's a quality I think more people need to have.

When he's not competing in mountain bike races, Jasper is the phys-ed teacher at Ruth Hooker Public School. You can't make that shit up. That's the actual name of the school- _Ruth Hooker_- and because Emmett and I have the combined maturity of an adolescent, we make fun of it as often as we can.

Much to Jasper's luck-though both of them say it was fate, which I do not believe in- Alice arrived as the school's librarian during his second year of teaching, effectively taking a very single Jasper permanently off the market. Even though we torment Jasper about being pussy-whipped, it's nice to see two people stay together who actually love each other. It gives me a glimmer of hope that it's possible.

I haven't exactly had a whole lot of luck in the long-term relationship arena, but it's a fact that you won't hear me complaining about. I like women and sex, and I like my freedom too much to even think about giving it up. The only problem with it is that Emmett and I have essentially whored our way through the acceptable dating pool in town, and I'm getting bored. So, I try to focus on my job.

We opened _Kink_, our custom bike paint and restoration shop, a little over seven years ago. Having grown up with a father who restored vintage cars for a living, and a mother who is the curator of the local art gallery, I guess you could say we were born with a creative gene. Although, it did sort of bypass Emmett a bit. He focuses on repairing and restoring damaged bikes, while I do all the custom designs and painting.

_Kink _has developed a reputation in the biking community of being _the_ place in the country to get custom work done. Hand painting, air brushing, pin-striping, custom lettering, vintage repairs, we do it all.

Being situated in the middle of goddamn nowhere, Canada, aka Selkirk, or as we sometimes call it, _Hellkirk,_ it's not unusual for us to have bikes shipped in from either coast to be worked on.

Selkirk is your typical Canadian summer tourist town. The meager population of just under ten thousand, balloons to nearly twice the size during the summer months as cottagers flock for their yearly holiday retreat from their lives in the big city.

They come to spend time at the white sand dunes of Winnipeg Beach, to sit back in their Muskoka chairs on their decks and take life a little easier for a while, to wander down the boardwalk in nearby Gimli, and spend their hard-earned money on ridiculous tacky souvenirs, like key chains of Chuck the fucking Channel Cat. Yes, we have a mascot… a fucking catfish, of all things. Selkirk is after all, the self proclaimed North American capital of catfish.

Once Labour Day comes and the tourists abandon ship, the streets roll up, and we get ready for the sheer hell that is the Canadian winter. Minus forty and several feet of snow at a time is not unusual. It's fucking cold, but we get through it, complaining the entire time, of course.

But for now, the town is buzzing as the vacationers start to descend. We frequently get annoying tourists wandering into the store during the extremely short and mosquito-ridden summer. They typically stare up at the display of restored bikes, looking like fucking idiots with their mouths hanging open. They ooh and ah and say things like, "Wow! These should be in a museum," or the occasional, "It's so pretty! Why would you want to ride it?" Like I said, tourists are usually not rocket scientists.

That doesn't mean that I don't enjoy them. I'd be lying if I said I was innocent in that regard – well, in any regard, actually. The single women who come here for summer vacation are perfect for me, giving me a break from the monotony of the women I tend to fuck.

They prance down the boardwalk where our shop is situated, dressed in next to nothing, leaving little to the imagination, and none of them are looking for a serious commitment. Some of them just want to have a one night stand, and that suits me just fine. I don't need a relationship to screw up what we've worked so hard for.

Because both Emmett and I are fucking good at our jobs, the shop does extremely well. It's not cheap to get a custom painted bike created by yours truly. I care about my work. I only use the best quality paints, I hand-prep everything, and I never cut corners. If you're going to shell out a grand or more to get your bike painted, it better be fucking awesome.

I shake my head at the frame of Tyler's poor excuse for a bike. The custom work I'm doing costs triple what he paid for this piece of shit. By the time I'm finished with it, no one will know that he bought it at _Canadian Tire_ - probably on fucking sale, no less.

I've spent years perfecting the way I work, and Emmett knows that I hate to be disturbed when I'm doing something as goddamn tedious as gold leafing. Sometimes, I think he lives to piss me off.

I push back the chair from the bike, and it makes a horrific scratching sound as it scrapes across the hardwood that Emmett just laid down a week ago, but I don't give a fuck. Fucking asshole. He'll go ballistic that his precious floor is ruined, but he deserves it. It's not like they can't go to Emmett's place; he just lives around the corner for fuck's sake, and I've got a fucking deadline to get this bike done.

Unable to take the rhythmic banging of the couch against the wall that continues to annoy the fuck out of me, I abandon the workroom and stalk out to the front, reaching into my back pocket for my faithful toothpick box and popping another one into my mouth.

I'm really fucking close to caving on this bet, and I wonder idly if Emmett is deliberately trying to make me crack. He and Jasper would love nothing more than to sit back and enjoy that 100 Proof Jack while laughing at my inability to control myself. I would never live it down.

My oral fixation satisfied for the moment, I hear the unmistakable, aggravating sound of the welcoming bells as they fall back against the front door, signaling no doubt another tourist designed to test my patience.

I could kill Alice for getting us those fucking bells. She said they bring good luck, or some shit. I don't dare take them down however. The wrath of Alice is really something I don't need or want to deal with.

Rounding the corner to the front of the store and leaving the whore moans behind me, I stop in my tracks, my eyes falling to finest ass I've seen in a very long time. Practically poured into a pair of black skinny jeans that stretch in all the right places, I take a moment to fully appreciate the sight in front of me.

Long, dark brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail as the woman crouches down in front of one of the baskets of painted brake levers on the floor. As she picks one of them up, she stands slowly, and holds it up to the light like she's examining it for flaws.

Her tight purple t-shirt creeps up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of the small of her back as she turns the lever in her hand. My cock twitches at the sight of her smooth skin highlighted against the fluorescent lights of the store, and I find myself chewing harder on the toothpick.

My eyes travel down her outstretched arm, taking in the half sleeve tattoo which has clearly been done by someone who knows what the fuck they're doing. It's extremely detailed with vibrant colours that wind their way down her forearm. As intricate as it is, it looks to be not quite finished, with a few areas outlined, but not yet filled in.

I feel a smirk creep across my lips as I watch her. If the rest of this tempting little one is even half as appealing as what I'm currently seeing, I'm going to have one hell of a night.

Deciding it's time to see more, I clear my throat and lean an elbow against the front counter. She whirls around to me, deep brown eyes widening for just a flicker of a second as they meet mine. It doesn't escape me that she takes her sweet time checking me out, and so I do the same.

My eyes scan the delicate features of her face, dropping to her fuckable mouth, the curve of her neck, lingering on the swell of her breasts as they peek out from the pronounced v-neck t-shirt that makes me want to see more.

She clears her own throat, much like I did, and I raise my eyes to meet hers once more. She lifts a brow to me. Clearly I've been caught eye-fucking her. Sue me.

"I think you may be lost," I say, cocking my head to one side at her. There's no way this fine creature is a rider, unless she's just getting into it. She's looking at the brake lever like's it's from another planet. Maybe she has a boyfriend who rides. I sure fucking hope not.

She nods slowly. "I think I might be, unless sex shops are extremely different in Selkirk," she deadpans.

The toothpick breaks in my mouth at her words, piercing the side of my cheek and causing me to curse under my breath. "Fuck me," I mutter, trying desperately to get rid of the fucking toothpick from hell as inconspicuously as possible.

Slipping it into my back pocket, I return her raised brow. "Sex shop?" I ask, my voice sounding slightly higher than normal.

"Mhmm." She turns to point to the orange neon sign affixed above the door. "Kink?"

I can't contain my chuckle. "It's the name of a BMX bike," I explain.

"Well… that would explain why I don't know what this is," she says, waving the brake lever at me, her intense gaze never wavering from mine. "It's amazing, whatever it is."

"It's a Tektro Eclipse brake lever."

"Huh," she says, turning it over in her hand and studying it again. "Tektro...Ec... Do they all look like this?"

"Only the ones I work on."

Her eyes snap back up to mine. "You made this?" she asks unbelievably, though I'm finding it hard to concentrate as my eyes seem to be focused on her enticing lips as they move.

"Well, I painted it. Yes."

"I wouldn't have taken you as an artsy guy," she says matter-of-factly.

I lift a brow. "Artsy guy?" My smirk widens. "Then what exactly would you take me as?"

"Um… I'm sorry-that didn't come out right. I shouldn't have said that. God I'm an idiot sometimes," she rambles. "Look, I just moved here and I needed a few things." She says it innocently, as if she's just looking for directions to the grocery store. Naughty little thing.

I can't hide my amusement as I answer, "Things that you can only get in a sex shop?"

She narrows her eyes at me slightly. "My favourite vibrator appears to have not survived the move, if you must know," she answers in annoyance.

"Well, that's a damn shame."

She nods in agreement. "You have no idea," she says seriously.

"Good vibrators are hard to come by?"

She shakes her head at me in frustration or amusement; it's hard to tell which. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. My mother would be mortified. She's so reserved! I think she should have been a nun… well, I mean obviously she's not, or I wouldn't be here, right?" she blurts out, looking slightly mortified as she thrusts the brake lever towards me.

I slowly hold out my hand as she drops it into my palm, my eyes staying locked to hers. "You have very nice… levers, or whatever you called you them. I'm just gonna go now," she almost whispers, backing up to the door. "Let's pretend this…" She motions between us with her hand a couple of times. "Never happened."

I grin while she pushes open the door, the bells clanging as it shuts behind her. I watch out the window, dumbfounded as to what the fuck just happened as she tucks her head down, turning to make her way down the street.

I find myself striding to the door, hauling it open and shouting to her retreating form. "Hey! Naughty one!"

She stops in her tracks and waits a beat before turning back to me while a few shoppers on the street pass us by. "_How To Be Naughty_ is about four blocks down."

I'm rewarded by a smile that overtakes her face as she nods to me and holds her fist up above her head, shouting back, "I don't need to know _how_ to be naughty. I just am." She turns on her heel, her head now held high, and weaves her way through the afternoon shoppers on the boardwalk while I just stand there like an idiot, my mouth hanging open, and left to wonder how the fuck I didn't even get her name.

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

My heart feels like it's going to burst through my shirt as I throw my head back, laughing to myself while I make my way down the street. Anyone looking at me must think I'm an absolute idiot. They wouldn't be far off.

Who has conversations about lost vibrators with perfect strangers? Okay, not just _any _perfect stranger, an extremely hot yet cocky stranger who eye-fucked me (not that I minded), and who I think has a nipple piercing, if I'm not mistaken, and a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his t-shirt, but still. _Who does that?_ Me, apparently.

_Way to make a first impression in your new home town, Bella._

Yet, I have to say if the rest of the guys in Selkirk are even half as hot as the pretty boy with two days worth of stubble in the bike shop disguised as a sex store is, I'm going to really enjoy it here.

I start laughing louder at where my priorities are. I haven't even gone to the grocery store yet, and have survived the last day on granola bars and flat Diet Pepsi left over from the drive from hell. Any other normal person would have made finding a grocery store a priority. Me? Nope. I need to replace my vibrator.

When I unceremoniously arrived in Selkirk a little over twenty-four hours ago, the vibrator wasn't the only thing that didn't make it unscathed. A couple of boxes of my favourite books and CDs are missing, but more importantly, and something which caused me to have a minor meltdown, the glass is cracked on a few of my framed pictures of Charlie and me on our various trips around small town Ontario.

Stupid fucking movers. And of course, because Charlie opted not to buy insurance, the moving company just gave me some lame ass song and dance, apologizing for the broken glass and claiming they would look for the mystery boxes of lost items. I'm not holding my breath.

As I make my way down the boardwalk and try to push the thoughts of the pretty-boy- want-to-be artist out of my mind, I look out over the Red River. This is the kind of place Charlie would love. A small town, friendly people, not much to do but just sit back and appreciate life.

That's what we used to do – every day, and on every trip we took together. There was never an agenda with Charlie and me. Things were always simple and easy. Charlie and my mom Renee divorced when I fourteen. Their marriage was a case where the theory of opposites attracting didn't last.

Renee was home schooled and came from an extremely religious family-church on Sundays, bible study, the whole nine yards. Charlie, on the other hand was a bad ass – at least that's what he says- and constantly in trouble with the law. It was never anything major, some minor vandalism, and a few nights spent drunk and passed out in an Ottawa holding cell, but they were complete opposites.

They met at an outdoor summer concert where Renee escaped from under the watchful eye of her parents for just long enough to spill frozen lemonade all over Charlie and his leather pants.

To hear them tell the story it was like fucking time stood still that night. I'm not sure I believe that, but a whirlwind relationship followed which her parents fought every step of the way, until it became obvious that tattooed Charlie wasn't going anywhere. Well, that and the fact that neither one of them was smart enough to think about birth control, which of course resulted in an unplanned bun in the oven.

I guess you could say that I come by my spontaneous nature naturally. I tend not to think too much about consequences. I like to live in the now. You never know when life is going to come up and bite you in the ass. Life's too short to worry about what ifs.

Unfortunately, my parent's marriage didn't last. The divorce was a good one – as good as divorces can be. They don't hate each other's guts, and that's a win compared to some of the other fucked up relationships I've seen.

I wasn't too surprised when they told me. I was just entering my teens at the time, and it could have really fucked me up, but I saw it coming a mile away. They were just two completely different people with little left in common but me.

Renee moved to Toronto where she is now a director of a charity there, and Charlie continued on with his tattoo shop in Ottawa. I opted to stay with Charlie, not wanting to uproot myself from my precious circle of friends and start over in a new city.

Life with Charlie has always been interesting, to say the least. He would frequently take me out of school, and we would head out to some town in the middle of fucking nowhere on his Harley because he had heard that they made great cheese, or were famous for something equally obscure.

On a whim after one of these grand adventures, I asked that he give me a tattoo that reminded him of the town we had been in, and thus began the chronicling of my teenage years with Charlie on my right arm.

I absently run my index finger over the outline that he hasn't finished yet. I left Ottawa before he had a chance to, after seeing an ad online for an ice cream truck that was for sale.

Some may think that is a spur of the moment and ridiculous decision, to move your life from Ottawa to the middle of Manitoba all for the sake of an floundering ice cream business, and they would probably be right.

The truth is, no one really tells you that a degree in Sociology from the University of Ottawa is worth fuck all in terms of a real career. You apply for jobs which look to be in your field, and inevitably the stuffy interviewer who looks like they have a pencil shoved up their ass, tells you that you need more schooling or more experience, neither of which I am interested in doing.

I'm currently using my Sociology degree to its maximum potential being gainfully employed at a corner kiosk in The Market selling BeaverTails to tourists who ask idiotic questions like, "Can I get to the Rocky Mountains and back in an hour?" or, equally dim-witted, "What do you do with all the snow when it melts?"

I shouldn't really complain. I know it could be worse. With my circle of friends slowly married off and enjoying life in suburbia with their two-point-five kids and stupid minivans, I didn't really have anything else going on. So one night, when I was incredibly bored and surfing porn, I came across the ice cream truck ad, and decided to haul ass to Manitoba.

Charlie actually thought it was a great idea, and even gave me some money he claimed to have saved up for me. I know that's a crock of shit. Charlie doesn't plan anything well enough to have saved money for me. I know it's likely whatever stash of cash he just happened to have in the tatt shop at the time.

So, with the cash from Charlie in hand, and an apartment available in Selkirk through "a guy Charlie knows," I piled into my aging 1979 black Trans Am, complete with a silver eagle on the hood, thank you very much, and started the long trek to Manitoba. I didn't ask any questions about how Charlie just happens to know a guy in Selkirk. It's probably best that I don't know the answer to that particular question.

The Trans Am, a gift from Charlie upon my graduation, is definitely on its last legs, and any other normal parent would probably question its ability to make it over two thousand kilometers, but that thought never entered Charlie's head. He was too busy getting a CD player installed in the thing, and burning me CD's with what he called "essential road trip tunes." Apparently, said tunes consist of classic rock from the sixties and seventies, and eighties hair bands… perfect for a trip that lasted over two extremely long fucking days.

Charlie's only ask was that I call him a few times during the trip. I don't think that he was concerned about my well-being, as much as he wanted to know if I came across any random attractions that he could eventually add to my growing tattoo.

So, with The Guess Who blaring from the less than stellar speakers, I made my way across the massive province that is Ontario, stopping in random towns to take pictures on my iPhone to send to Charlie, and praying that the Trans Am wouldn't keel over and die on me.

Like an idiot, I left Charlie in charge of arranging the shipment of the stuff I couldn't jam into the car, which is probably why when I arrived, half of it was in crushed in boxes, and it's also why I'm currently in desperate need of a replacement for my vibrator.

I shelled out almost two and fifty hundred dollars for that vibrator, and it was worth every penny. I have my doubts that I'll ever find anything battery operated or human that remotely comes close to matching the experience Jake has provided me over the years.

Yes, that's how close of a relationship I had with that vibrator. I named him. Jake was loyal, always there for me when I needed him, and never, ever disappointed me. I can't say that about the string of horrific loser boyfriends I had prior to leaving the nation's capital.

A chorus of giggling girls coming out of a store brings me back to the now, and I look up to the pink neon sign above the door that signals I've arrived just where the pretty boy said I would, in front of _How To Be Naughty_.

Unconvinced that I'm going to find something half way decent in a place that looks sketchy at best, I haul open the door and wander in to find my replacement for Jake.

Chapter end notes:

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

Selkirk: Real town, located just outside of Winnipeg, MB, Canada – It's wonderful.

Ruth Hooker Public School: Actual school, located in Selkirk – No, you can't make that name up.

Kink: A real BMX bike brand

Tektro Eclipse: An actual brake lever typically used on mountain bikes

The Guess Who: Iconic Canadian band from Winnipeg

BeaverTails: Pastry goodness with assorted toppings: w w w. beavertailsinc.c o m

Updates of this quick and silly story: Every Monday


	2. Chapter 2

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug. Much love! Check out Reluctant Hearts. It's brilliant.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. XO

Thanks to all those reading and to those who take the time to review. I promised fun. Trust me. No angst here.

Onward with chapter 2.

Come join me.

Chapter 2

_**Edward**_

"Finally done getting your dick wet, asshole?" I glare at Emmett as he strolls to the front of the shop and leans against the counter, looking extremely pleased with himself. I fight back a shudder, not wanting to dwell on what has just transpired in the office…on the new leather sofa, or the desk, probably against the filing cabinet…at least that's what I would do with the fine piece of ass I've been treated to seeing today.

"What?" he asks, looking dumbfounded.

I fire the lever in my hand at his head, and he ducks before it clocks him. "Seriously?"

"What the fuck, man! That could have hurt," he complains.

"Maybe it would help knock some sense into you."

"You're just jealous because you haven't gotten fucked in forever," he fires back at me.

"Shut up." Yeah, so it's been more than a couple of months. Who gives a shit?

"Why don't you go into the Palomino tonight? You can pick something up there in about two seconds."

"Sloppy seconds you mean. Thanks but I'll take a pass."

"You're going to start getting carpie tunnel, Edward." Rose's voice causes me to whip my head to her just in time to see her buttoning up her bright yellow shirt. Rose seems to be perpetually stuck in the eighties with big hair, lots of those plastic bangles on her wrists every time I see her, and more whore blue eye shadow than the entire Revlon factory.

"Jesus. Can you do that _before_ you saunter out here? What if we had customers?" I shake my head and turn away from her, but not before getting an eyeful. Rose has a rocking body. There's no denying that. Even if it is poured into a circa 1987 wardrobe, complete with shoulder pads.

"Most of those customers already know me," she says with a smirk.

"Why am I not surprised? And its _carpal_ tunnel, not carpie tunnel."

"Whatever," Rose says dismissively, rolling her eyes and sliding her palm up Emmett's chest. "Round two a bit later?"

"Oh fuck no. No more fucking in that office."

"Why not?" They both ask in unison.

"Do I really need to fucking explain that to you two?"

"Chillax, Edward. It's all cool," Rose says, trying to toss her stiff and bottled blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Chillax? 1985 called, Rose. They want their Aqua Net back."

Emmett just laughs and proceeds to slip Rose the tongue as they make out against the cash register. Naughty One wasn't too far off on her assumption that this was a sex shop, I guess. I could charge admission for the dry humping session currently going on.

Thankfully the dreaded bells from hell chime, ending the groping. "Good afternoon!" Alice breezes her way into the shop, setting a welcome tray of Tim Hortons caffeine gold on the counter.

"Thank fuck," I mutter.

Moving to the counter, I spot my double-double quickly, noting that Angela must be working as the white chalk _DD_ letters have a little heart beside them with her phone number… again.

There's a booty call I won't be engaging in any time soon. She's persistent, I'll give her that. She's also slept with more people than I have over the years, and that's saying something.

Rose practically launches herself at the tray of goodness, lifting out her ice-cap and starting to slurp on it, which of course, only results in Emmett's mouth dropping open as he eye fucks her.

Alice laughs, handing Emmett his honey-lemon tea-yes, I said tea, don't ask me why he drinks that shit- and she pushes his jaw up with her index finger. "I'm pretty sure she'll give you a private showing later," Alice says, patting him on the head like he's a puppy or something before hopping up to sit on the counter beside the cash register.

If it was anyone else patting Emmett over the head, he probably wouldn't be too impressed, but Alice is like the sister we never had so he tolerates it. Today, she's got her long hair dyed purple. She tends to change her hair colour a lot during the summer months when school's out – some rebellious streak, I guess. Surprisingly, this purple actually suits her, and kind of matches the tights and black tank top she's wearing.

I chuckle at the polar opposites of Rose and Alice while I take a long sip of my coffee. I'm probably drinking twice as much as I did before taking Jasper up on his asinine bet that I couldn't quit smoking. Still, I'm pretty sure that copious amounts of caffeine are better for me than nicotine – not that I'd admit that to him.

One not so welcome side effect is that I'm sleeping less than normal given the amount of caffeine coursing through me. I guess that gives me more time to engage in… other activities. Lately those activities have little to nothing to do with woman, unless you count the porn marathons I find myself engaged in watching.

"Oh! What time should I pick you up tonight, Rose?" Alice asks.

"Tonight?" Emmett looks hurt. "But we were supposed to…" He wags his eyebrows at her.

"Fuck?" I state the obvious.

"Jesus, Edward," he grumbles under his breath as Rose slurps away on her ice-cap completely oblivious.

"Oh, _now_ you're shy all of a sudden?"

"There will be lots of time for that," Rose finally says, holding the now empty ice-cap up in the air, and throwing her head back. "Wooo! Head rush! Head rush!"

"You're not supposed to drink them that fast," Alice says, laughing as she swings her legs from the edge of the counter.

"But they're so good!"

"I hope you last longer than the ice-cap, bro." I smirk at Emmett as he sips on his tea and pretends to ignore me.

Setting her coffee on the counter, Alice claps her hands excitedly. "Guess what! It's my first passion party tonight!"

"Passion party?" I raise a brow.

"Mmm," Rose murmurs, holding Alice's hand as she jumps down from the counter. "You know, vibrators, cock rings, lube, videos."

Emmett chokes on his tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hell ya! Can I come?"

He just makes it too damn easy.

"I'm pretty sure you will be."

"Girls only. Sorry to disappoint you, boys," Alice says, ignoring us both as she opens the door and smiles up at the bells when they chime.

The girls giggle and link arms, Rose giving a wave over her shoulder while they make their way out of the store and down the street.

"Dude! Why don't we ever do any cool shit like that?" Emmett asks seriously once the bells stop banging against the door.

I shake my head, draining the coffee. "Did Rose actually fuck your brains out?"

"What?"

"What the fuck is wrong is with you? You seriously want to go to a party with dildos and cock rings?" He shrugs his shoulders as an answer. "And we do cool shit all the time. We're having a bonfire tomorrow night, remember?"

"Oh shit! I have to go to the Liquor Mart." He grins at me as he remembers what I've been reminding him repeatedly to do for days.

"Make sure you pick up some of those Mudslides when you're there."

"That's a little girly, don't you think? They taste like chocolate milk," he says, moving behind the cash register.

"Not for me, you idiot. Jasper and Alice drink them all the time."

Emmett snorts, rifling through the drawer at the counter for his keys. I shake my head and move behind the register, pulling them down from the hook on the wall where he hangs them every single day. "Here."

"Thanks, bro," he says, catching them as I fire them at his head. "You'd think I would remember where I put them by now."

I smirk at him as he heads to the door. "You would think." He laughs, opening and shutting the door a few times, causing the bells to bang repeatedly against the glass. Stupid bells. He knows I hate them. "You're an asshole."

"An asshole that is going to the Liquor Mart for you." He gives me a wave while the door shuts, and when he disappears from view, I pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans, sending him a text.

_Don't forget the Mudslides, genius._

It only takes a few minutes before his reply text.

_You know I already did. Thanks, bro._

Shaking my head, I pop another toothpick into my mouth, rolling it over my tongue as I make my way back to the studio. Mom and Dad were actually worried about Emmett's tendency to forget things, and had him tested for various conditions over the years. It turns out he's just like the majority of the male population - we tend to forget shit that isn't important to us. Apparently for Emmett, not much outside of fixing bikes, driving, and eating is really important.

Ignoring the post-fuck mess that more than likely is waiting for me in the office, I circle Tyler's bike, chewing on the end of the toothpick. Why he wants gold leaf inlay on this piece of shit is a mystery to me. People really amuse the hell out of me sometimes. At least I was able to talk him out of the ridiculous arrow design he wanted, suggesting a snake wrapped around the frame would be much cooler.

Moving to the raised table, I gently pull out a thin square of gold leaf, and start the meticulous task of cutting it, hoping this time I actually make some headway.

_**KINK**_

Time tends to slip away from me when I get immersed in my work... even if it is as ludicrous as a gold leaf inlay snake applied to a crappy bike like this. I take pride in my work, which is why I'm actually satisfied when I stand back from the bike and take in my creation.

"It looks amazing, dear," my mom's soothing voice breaks my concentration and I turn to see her standing in the doorway with a welcome tray of brownies. She's got on one the shop's t-shirts and some white jeans, with her hair down and all curly. Very strange for mom. She's usually in dresses or pant suits, with her hair tied back since she has to work at the gallery. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Of course it is. You don't have to ask."

"Oh please, Edward. I work with artists on a daily basis. I know you hate to be interrupted."

"You're not interrupting," I say, moving to take the tray and giving her a quick hug. "You think it looks good?"

She circles the bike, squatting down to examine the detail on the underside of the frame. She has the one opinion I actually care most about.

"It's wonderful. But everything you do is," she says confidently.

"You may be slightly biased." I chuckle, taking a bite of a brownie. "Holy fuck!" She whips her head to me, grinning, but offering me the raised unimpressed brow. She's gotten used to the string of profanities that frequently leave my mouth, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. "These are fucking amazing."

"Colourful description, and thank you. Who's biased now?" I chuckle, taking another bite. "Your father is starting the detail work on the Thunderbird," she adds, moving back to me.

"He is?" That Thunderbird is now one sweet ride. It was a total disaster when Mike Newton, Hellkirk's extremely annoying resident slime ball, had it towed to Dad's shop. You could barely even recognize that it was a Thunderbird. Dad's been working on it for a couple of months now, and it looks fucking awesome – not that Mike Newton should be driving a kick ass car like this. The guy is one groping incident away from a sexual harassment case.

Mike owns, or rather I should say his father owned and then gave him, a real estate company that manages rental properties and some rather sketchy apartments in the area. As such, he feels it necessary to walk around town thinking he's better than everyone else and calling himself a tycoon.

Yeah, we try to stay clear of each other. There is no love lost between Newton and me. He once referred to my work as "no better than an eight-year-old with some Crayola markers and a colouring book from the dollar store." Let's just say he ended up with a black eye and a busted lip. That was a long time ago, but I tend not to forget shit like that.

"You should take a drive out and give your Dad a hand," Mom suggests, thankfully removing any further thoughts of Mike-asshat-Newton.

"Is his arthritis acting up?" There's something I have to look forward to. Dad's been handling it pretty well so far. Most days, it's not too bad, but it's getting difficult for him to complete more detailed tasks, and of course, because he's as stubborn as an ox, he rarely asks for help.

"Judging from the language coming from the garage, I'd say that's a fair statement. At least you come by your colourful vocabulary honestly." She grins at me as I devour another brownie. "Oh, there's chili in the slow cooker for your father. If you can turn it off when you get there, that would be great."

"You're not going to be there?"

"I'm going out with Alice and Rose," she says, a slight smirk on her face.

A piece of brownie falls out of my mouth. "To the dildo party?"

"I prefer to use the term _massager,_ but yes," she says, boldly.

"Jesus Christ, Mom."

"You aren't the only Cullen who likes to have fun, dear." She kisses me on my cheek before standing back and holding her arms out, modeling the t-shirt. "Appropriate t-shirt for tonight? Kink?" She snickers and leaves me with extremely unwelcome thoughts in my head.

I'm going to need therapy after this fucking conversation...or brain bleach…maybe both.

_**KINK**_

"Dad?" I move through the spotless garage, scanning for him. How he manages to keep it so clean is a mystery to me. Emmett is a fucking disaster when he works, and I'm not much better. You could eat off the floors in here.

"At the front, son." Dad's muffled voice drifts to me as I run my index finger along the side of the Thunderbird. He's done an amazing job on the restoration so far. It looks better than it did when it rolled off the line in 1958.

Approaching the raised hood I see him scowl in frustration, pushing off the stool and whipping the brush in his hands across the garage. It makes impact with one of his chrome tool cabinets before falling to the spotless floor.

"Feel better now?" I ask, leaning against the car.

He narrows his eyes at me, shaking his head. "Not really."

"Yeah. It usually doesn't work for me either."

"Pray that arthritis skips a generation, Edward." He holds up his worn, weathered hands, waving them at me. "This is a pain in the fucking ass."

"Want some help?"

"I should be able to this. It's just the painting around the stupid grill work," he grumbles, raking a hand through his greying hair.

"And I should be able to fix a stupid brake on a bike, but I'd drive myself fucking crazy trying." He nods slightly and I move to retrieve the brush from the floor. "Tell you what. You crack open a couple of cold ones while I finish this. I'll meet you on the dock in a bit."

"Well, I could use a fucking drink," he mumbles, his hand clapping my shoulder before making his way out of the garage.

Progress with my father. It doesn't happen very often. I'll take it.

"When's the fucking last time you washed your Nova?" His pissed off voice drifts to me from outside, and I can't help but chuckle. Okay, so maybe _progress_ was the wrong word.

_**KINK**_

"Can I use your cooler tomorrow night?" I ask as we lounge in the Muskoka chairs on the cedar dock overlooking Lake Winnipeg. Mom and Dad have a great spot, a two story A-frame house with a shitload of windows that are a pain in the ass to clean, and a wrap around deck. It's set back from the beach with a dock that stretches out over the lake. It's perfect for jumping off of, and Emmett's only ever hurt himself once doing that, which is a minor miracle.

It was an awesome place to grow up; boating in the summer, and hockey when the lake froze for the winter. I distinctly remember getting up way too fucking early in the morning to help Mom and Dad shovel off the freshly fallen snow from the ice, and playing hockey with Emmett the entire day. Our fingers would be frozen and our cheeks frostbitten when Mom would drag us off for sporadic hot chocolate breaks throughout the day.

With _Kink _doing so well, I've been able to afford my own place on the beach. It's a bungalow a few kilometers down from Mom and Dad's. It needed a lot of TLC when I bought it, but with Dad, Jasper, and Emmett's help, it's now a kick ass place to live.

"No problem. Another bonfire?" he asks, slowly sipping his Corona.

"Yep."

"Did I ever tell you I met your mother at a bonfire?"

I chuckle, stretching my legs out as I finish the beer. "Yeah. I think I've heard that story a few times."

"See? There's hope for you yet," he says, grinning at me.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I swirl the lingering lime around in the bottom of the bottle.

"So you're just going to be Selkirk's legendary bachelor for the rest of your life?"

"I don't know. I haven't exactly given it a whole lot of thought."

"You know, at your age, I was already married," he says, looking out over the lake.

"Mhmm... Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh I had fun, son. Trust me. Your track record is nothing compared to mine," he admits, smirking.

"TMI, dad."

"TMI my ass. You think I like to hear about your escapades when I go for coffee?"

"Don't tell me you're listening to a bunch of gossips who have nothing better to do with their time?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hmm. The gossips seem to think that you've mastered extra-curricular activities."

"I like to have fun. Sue me."

"You're being careful, right?"

I scowl at him. "Jesus Christ, dad. I'm not fucking seventeen years old. Of course I'm being careful." He grins, setting the empty Corona on the dock beside the chair. "You may want to have this conversation with Emmett, however."

"Oh, really?" He sounds shocked and so am I. It's a first for Emmett.

"Yeah. Rose has made it past his two week cut."

"Two week cut?"

"Yep. That's the longest any chick has lasted."

He raises a brow. "Woman, Edward. Any _woman_."

"She may be a keeper."

"Well, your mother seems to like her. She's shopping with her and Alice tonight actually," he says, passing me another beer.

I chuckle. "That's what she told you? She's _shopping_?"

"Yeah."

"Dad, they're shopping for dildos at some girly sex party."

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath.

"Exactly."

_**KINK**_

"I'm telling you, tatts are hot. But tramp stamps, no fucking thank you." I've been trying to convince Emmett that Rose's tacky and cliché tattoo that he's been describing in painful detail for the last fucking hour is not attractive.

Don't get me wrong-tatts turn me on-like the ones I saw early today that belonged to Miss sex-on-legs that wandered into the shop. The tramp stamp however, does absolutely fucking nothing for me. My mind wanders back to the naughty one and I wonder where else she's inked.

While I flip the steaks over on the grill, Emmett continues to shake his head at me. "Guess it's all what you like, bro, and I like sliding my tongue over that tatt."

"For fuck's sake, Emmett. We're about to eat here."

"Your mother has a tattoo," Dad says casually, as if he's just talking about the weather or something. I just about spit out my mouthful of Corona, and Emmett bursts out laughing.

"Since when?" I ask, slightly horrified that my mother is inked in a place that clearly only my father sees on a regular basis.

"A few years ago."

"What the fuck?" Switching off the grill, I flip the steaks onto a tray, setting it down in the middle of the patio table beside the crock pot full of Mom's famous chili.

"Where?" Emmett asks, rubbing his hands together and practically salivating at the sight of the steak.

"Well, right about here," Dad says, pointing to his inner thigh with a grin. "It was a damn good purchase."

Just fucking kill me now. I've officially lost my appetite.

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

"No." I shake my head at Jane, the laid back but surprisingly knowledgeable owner of _How To Be Naughty_ as she pulls out a pink Lyla 2 and waves her hand over it like she's Vanna White.

"This one is really good." Her voice rises as do her eyebrows. "And it comes with a remote control." Clearly, she's had experience with this particular _massager_ as she likes to call it, but so have I.

"I broke that one once."

"You broke it?" Her eyes widen as she looks between me and Lyla 2 in disbelief. "How?"

"Overuse, apparently."

She nods, stroking it almost lovingly before putting it back in the case. Something tells me it may be more than a display model. "You gotta do what you gotta do," she says.

Like I give a shit what she thinks. But she is right. For single woman who don't want the bullshit that goes along with most men, this is our option... this and porn.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a man who knows what he's doing in the bedroom. It's just been my unfortunate experience that many do not. Worse still, they pretend they know what they're doing when you meet them. The bastards get your hopes up, and then, once the doors are closed and it's time to get down to business, they have no fucking clue what they're doing.

Inexperience was fine when I was eighteen and you could learn things together. It was sweet then, however it gets a little old now that I'm thirty. I'm not saying you need to be a legend in the bedroom or something, but some knowledge and attention goes a long way. It's not rocket science.

After a lengthy debate over the merits and shortcomings of the various options in the store, I decide on the Soraya. It's waterproof, has eight stimulation modes, and costs me just over two hundred dollars. Jane actually describes it as 'gorgeous.' It's the first time I've heard anyone describe a vibrator this way. Jane is definitely passionate about her job.

Handing my Visa over, I shake my head at the fact that I'm dropping more on a vibrator than I will on my groceries later today. Good to know I have my priorities straight.

As she gently bags up my purchase, she slides a flyer into the black bag. "I'm having a passion party tonight. You should come," she says excitedly.

"Passion party?" I ask, holding back a chuckle and taking the bag from her when she gingerly passes it over like she's handling a priceless antique from a museum or something.

"Mhmm," she murmurs, nodding her head enthusiastically. "It's a sex toy party. You know, a bunch of us girls getting together, having some martinis, complaining about our men."

"I don't have a man to complain about."

She waves her hand dismissively at my comment. "Oh neither do I. My partner and I host these all the time," she says. "It's a lot of fun, and you'll get to meet some new people."

"I don't know, Jane. I wouldn't want to intrude," I start, even though I'm feeling rather curious about this passion party and her enthusiasm for it.

"You're coming," she says rather forcefully, leveling me a stern look.

_Okay then. _

"Oh, why not. It sounds like a lot of fun." That and I really don't want to piss off the owner of my newfound favourite store in the city.

She grins, nodding her approval, her expression shifting. "Oh! And you'll need a Bingo dabber. We're playing Sex Bingo!"

"Sex Bingo? What is that?" I ask, laughing.

"You'll see. You can get a dabber at the Dollarama," she suggests happily.

Of course. Where else would you get a Bingo dabber?

_**KINK**_

By the time I make it home-and I use that term very loosely-it's almost six o'clock, and I'm exhausted. I gather all of the bags of groceries I've just purchased from the _Superstore_ from the back of the Trans Am, and make my way into the apartment building.

Something in the back of my head tells me I probably shouldn't be trying to haul this many bags at once, but the thought of navigating the four flights of rickety stairs to my apartment more than once is not a pleasant one.

Amazingly, I reach the fourth floor without dropping any of the bags in the stairwell, and I find myself fumbling with my keys as I try to hold onto nine plastic bags that are digging into my skin.

Cursing my laziness, I finally get the key into the sketchy lock, and burst through into my apartment, practically sprinting to the kitchen as I feel the sting from the plastic bags intensify on my wrists. I slam the bags onto the counter, untwisting them from my grasp, staring down at the red indents on my skin. I really am an idiot sometimes.

Rifling through the bags, I find the six pack of diet Pepsi and crack one open, drinking it down, not caring that it isn't cold. It's a million degrees in this damn apartment. I should have opened a window before I left this morning… if I could. All the windows seem to be painted shut with the exception of the bedroom window that is currently housing an aging air-conditioning unit, secured only by a fraying layer of silver duct tape. I wonder how long that's been there, and what rocket scientist decided that duct tape would be a suitable way to put up an air conditioner.

I have yet to see a landlord or anyone else who looks to be in charge in this building. When I arrived yesterday, the keys to the apartment were right where Charlie said they would be… in the broken planter at the front of the building that contains dead marigolds and some overgrown weeds.

Finishing off my diet Pepsi, I start pulling out the cleaning supplies. There's no way I'm going another night in this place without giving it a scrub down. Mom would be mortified if she saw the amount of dust and grime around here. I guess I did inherit some of her traits after all.

Snapping on the cleaning gloves from _Dollarama,_ I open up the _Mr. Clean _and get to work.

_**KINK**_

An hour later, I'm a sweating, grungy mess, but at least the cheap parquet floor is cleaned, and the bathroom is as spotless as it can get. I scowl at the plastic, puke green shower curtain that is ripped and hanging insecurely off its metal hooks. Who puts this up in a bathroom?

Shaking my head, I decide to treat myself to an extremely long, hot bath, and test out the waterproof qualities of my new best friend, the Soraya. I have high hopes for my Jake replacement.

Turning on the faucet and dropping in the plug, I squirt a large amount of my favourite brown sugar bubble bath into the tub, pushing the annoying plastic curtain as far to the end of the rod as I can.

Sliding the Soraya case out of the bag, the flyer that Jane slipped in comes out with it. I scan it quickly, my eyes settling over the words _Passion Party_ in large font at the top.

_Shit!_

I stare back anxiously at my tousled reflection in the mirror, cursing myself for agreeing to this damn party that now stands between me and one hell of a much needed orgasm. I contemplate ditching the whole thing. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty fucking tempting, but I also really would like to meet a few people. If they all turn out to be losers, at least I'll have a few laughs in the process, and maybe I'll even win something at this _Sex Bingo_ that Jane mentioned. That alone has me intrigued.

_You can always try out New Jake later, Bella._

I nod to myself in the mirror, moving to the tub and pulling out the plug, turning on the shower instead.

Peeling off my t-shirt, I glance at the Soraya case, patting it gently.

_Delayed gratification is a good thing._

Chapter End Notes

Thoughts?

Twitter: Carlemon

Tim Hortons – Canadian coffee giant – One on every corner

Double-Double- 2 creams/2 sugars added to your coffee

Liquor Mart – Place to get your liquor in Winnipeg – They usually have samples *grins*

Mudslides – Dear God in heaven, just go find and buy them

Lyla 2 and Soraya – Elite "massagers" – See comment above

Superstore – Canadian grocery chain that is always annoyingly busy

Dollarama – Canadian dollar store

Update - Next Monday - A Passion Party-what could possibly happen?


	3. Chapter 3

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug. Much love! Check out her latest story Reluctant Hearts - It's almost over! *sniff*

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. XO

Thanks to those reading and reviewing. You all make my day.

Onward with chapter 3.

Come join me.

Chapter 3

_**Edward**_

Leaning against my cedar deck, I watch as night falls over Winnipeg Beach. Normally I'd be out here enjoying a smoke, particularly after having to endure a detailed and quite frankly, disturbing tatt conversation between Emmett and my own father.

It's really fucking tempting to light up a smoke right now, but I refuse to give Jasper the satisfaction of winning this bet. With my luck, he's probably hiding in the bushes, watching and waiting for me to screw up. I wouldn't put it past him, lurker that he is.

I glance to the bank of pine trees to my left, narrowing my eyes into the darkness, shaking my head as I listen to the waves lap against the shore, and the crickets as they chirp away. I'm restless and that's not normal for me. Maybe it's the conversation with Dad earlier tonight, maybe it's the fact that Emmett might be inching closer to a white picket fence with Rose, or maybe I just need to get laid.

I pop a toothpick into my mouth as I drop into a lounge chair and pull out my phone, stretching my legs out. Thumbing through the long list of possibilities, I find myself deleting a few along the way. I mean _Jessica Stanley_? What the fuck was I thinking? It would be easy to blame alcohol, unfortunately in this case, I wasn't drunk. I wish I could say that I was.

I feel slightly unsettled scrolling through these names. I don't even recognize some of these people, but I also don't regret any of my actions. Consenting adults can do whatever the fuck they want. Irritated by the sudden appearance of a nagging conscious, I push off the lounger and head back inside.

One of the perks of living alone, I get to watch SportsCentre whenever the fuck I want. Switching on the remote, my big screen hums to life, background noise as I pour myself a Crown Royal from the bar… something else I don't have to listen to anyone bitch about.

I'm only mildly interested as Jennifer Hedger rattles on about some baseball trade. She's alright to look at as news anchors go. Nice tits, dyed blonde hair… which reminds of Rose, which instantly diverts any further thoughts of doing Jennifer Hedger.

Sinking into my brown leather chair, I flick through the program menu on the screen, slowly nursing my Crown Royal. Even with over eight hundred satellite channels, there's not much on at this time of night. An idiotic reality show about some loser bachelor trying to find love on national television, although he is currently in a pool with five chic—_women—_who are hanging on his every asinine word. Then, there's reruns of CSI and every other knock-off show like it, and let's not forget Shipping Wars, Storage Wars, Swamp Wars, Ice Road Truckers, Hoarders. I shudder slightly. They will make a reality show out of anything, it seems.

I pause, at Hell's Kitchen, listening to Gordon Ramsay curse out some incompetent chef want-to-be, chuckling as he whips a plate across the kitchen. Like that's going to solve anything. The guy needs an anger management intervention.

As the network bleeps out Gordon's string of profanities, my phone buzzes from my pocket. I lift up from the chair, pulling it out of my jeans, laughing at the text from Emmett.

_Dude! Best shopping sex party thing ever!_

I chuckle as I type my response.

_Thanks for the visual. Enjoy it._

I get an almost instant reply.

_You want a visual?_

Jesus Christ. I shake my head, texting him back.

_Fuck no!_

It only takes a few minutes for his response to chime through.

_Go get laid, asshole._

I turn the phone over repeatedly in my hand, contemplating my brother's sage advice. It would be pretty easy for me to do that; to go into town, to _The Palomino_ or _The Spike_, set my sights on a fine piece of ass and do what I do best; a one night stand. No strings, no commitments, just the way I like it, and everybody leaves satisfied.

The thing is, I don't really want to.

It's a revelation if there ever was one.

I'm tired.

Tired of the scene I have perpetually put myself into. Tired of being labeled by the entire town. Tired of emotionless encounters – that's what they are essentially. Sure there's lust, and we both feel a whole hell of a lot better after the fact, but outside of that, what is there?

Raising my glass to the TV, I make my decision and settle in for the night, taking a sip of liquid gold.

"Guess it's you and me, Chef Hard Ass."

Ramsay shakes his head, looking disgusted with me.

Yeah, he doesn't believe me either.

_**KINK**_

"And then, she wanted me to rub it over her tits," Jasper not so quietly whisper-yells across the table as I sip on my double-double in the middle of Tim Hortons.

I shake my head as I try to get that particular visual out of it. "Look, I love sex just as much as you, but Jesus Christ, Jasper, it's fucking eight-thirty in the morning, and I'm trying to eat here."

I give a wave to Mrs. Cope—leader of the gossip pack herself—as she clears her throat at our conversation. As usual, she's dressed in a nylon track suit. This one is light blue. I think she must have a million different colours of that hideous thing. It's all she ever wears – nylon in the summer, velour in the winter.

She's in her glory, sitting in her usual spot, greeting everyone who comes in the door and soaking up all the mindless rumours of the morning. I wonder if she was at this fucking awesome passion party last night. Good on Mr. Cope if that's the case. Seems everyone is getting some… almost everyone.

"Oh, Alice wanted me to tell you that she's invited someone to the bonfire tonight," Jasper says casually, offering me a lop-sided smirk. He grimaces quickly, rubbing the latest biking war wound on his cheek from another wipeout on one of the trails. "Damn that hurts."

I still the take-out coffee cup on my lips as the alarm bells sound in my head. Alice does this all the time. Bringing around some lost soul from one of the neighbouring towns like Gimli, or Lockport, that she knows from her book club.

People gravitate to Alice. You really can't help it. When you think about it, she's kind of been like my own personal escort service in a way, because more often than not, I've ended up with her charity case of the day in one way or another. Maybe I'll break my recent drought and actually get lucky tonight.

So much for my mini revelation last night.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, trying to sound like I could give a shit.

"Mhmm… She was at the party last night. I guess she knows Jane or something."

_Or something. Probably one of Jane's friends who pitches for the other team._ So much for getting lucky with someone new... unless she's bi. My mind wanders as I pop a toothpick into my mouth.

"Alright, man. I gotta hit the trails," Jasper says, hitting me on the back as he bolts from his seat, sliding his bike helmet on. "See you tonight, around nine, right?"

"You can come over whenever you want. You know that, J."

He smiles, squeezing my shoulder. "I know, man. And I thank you for that every single day."

I watch as Jasper lingers for a minute, exchanging morning notes about the weather with Mrs. Cope as she not so discreetly checks him out in his biking shorts. She even turns in her seat to watch him leave, getting a good view of his ass as he slides on his sunglasses before taking off on his mountain bike.

I cock my head, grinning at her as fans herself and turns around, her face heating further when she realizes she's been caught gawking. She tries to hide her face behind her XL take-out cup as I get up from the table. I smirk, taking my coffee and Emmett's tea, stopping to whisper next to her ear. "Your secret is safe with me, Shelly."

She gasps, looking mortified while I make my way down the street to open Kink for the day.

_**KINK**_

"It looks bitchin'," Tyler says appreciatively, sliding his fingers over the frame of his Canadian Tire special that now looks like a million bucks.

I ignore his dated slang and nod to him as he hops onto the bike, riding it in circles behind the shop like he's five years old or something. Even though he looks ridiculous, I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It really doesn't take much to make some people happy.

"Eleven hundred, right?" he asks, skidding the bike to a stop in front of me.

"Mhmm." I roll the toothpick over my tongue as he leans against the handlebars.

"I can give you half now and half at the end next week. Does that work?" he asks, rather sheepishly.

I lift a brow. We didn't agree to half payments and that's not how I usually do business, but I've known Crowley since high school. He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he is honest. He's also just been cut back to four days a week at the steel mill, and I know money must be tight.

"No worries. I know where you live," I only half tease, opening up the back door to the store as he wheels the bike inside.

"Thanks, man. The mill is cutting back hours for everyone," he explains.

I nod as he pushes the kickstand down on the bike, and we move to the cash register. "I heard. That blows."

"You're telling me."

I ring up his half payment, making a note for the remainder beside his account in the computer. "You're good to go."

"You and Emm having a bonfire tonight, I hear," he notes as we head back to the workshop.

"News travels fast."

He chuckles, pushing his bike into the alleyway as I hold the back door open. "Well, this _is _Selkirk, Ed. Everyone knows everything."

"No. Everything _thinks_ they know everything. Stop by if you get a chance tonight."

"Will Angela be there?" he asks, looking at me hopefully.

"I don't know. I don't keep tabs on Angela." Nor would I ever want to. Actually, if Tyler could amuse her for a while, that would be a good thing. Maybe she would stop her not so subtle hint dropping to me. At least I didn't have to deal with her during breakfast this morning.

"Huh," he says, hopping up onto his bike. "Guess that rumour is wrong. So you wouldn't mind then if I…" He wags his eyebrows.

"Knock yourself out, man. I'm not touching that."

He smirks, starting to pedal away from the store. "I just might. Maybe I'll see you later," he calls over his shoulder, disappearing down the alleyway.

_**KINK**_

It's been a fucking long day and the last goddamn thing I feel like doing is entertaining half the town. Every possible thing that could go wrong did today. Emmett was four fucking hours late, testing out the various purchases that Rose made at the party last night, which put him half a day behind on his work, which in turn puts me back the same amount of time. The fucking idiots at the paint supply store shipped me the wrong metallics, which means I'm going to have to work twice as hard to finish the work on Jasper's bike if I want to have it done for the race this weekend. I cut my left palm trying to remove rust from the frame a vintage Schwinn, and to top it all off, I've been taunted by a carload of bikini clad university nursing students who continuously paraded in and out of the shop, interrupting me and asking stupid questions about the displays in the store.

Normally, I'd be all over four nursing students dressed in next to nothing, but deadlines are deadlines, and that is a distraction that I just don't need right now. Sometimes life isn't fucking fair. Why couldn't I get giggling nurses on a day where I wasn't slammed with work?

There is the vague possibility that one or more of them will show up tonight as Emmett couldn't keep his mouth shut about it. For once, I'm glad about that. I need a good fuck.

Carrying out the wood from the shed to the fire pit area on the beach behind the house, I hear a commotion on the deck, turning to see Alice nattering away to Jasper as he carries an armload of bags.

"Put the chips in the bowls here," she instructs as Jasper dutifully follows her instructions.

I make my way back to the deck once I've stacked the wood in the fire pit, chuckling at the two of them. "You guys didn't have to bring anything. I have tons of stuff to eat."

"Don't be silly. It's the least we can do," Alice says, repositioning a red plastic bowl filled with pretzels on the table. "Aren't they cute?"

"Cute?" I ask while Jasper rolls his eyes behind Alice.

"The bowls!" she says excitedly. "I got them at Dollarama. It's amazing what you can find in there."

Dollarama is not a place I go to very often, but if it makes Alice this happy, it can't be that bad.

"They're great. Thanks, Ali," I say, kissing her on the cheek before moving back inside to load up the various coolers with ice.

As I'm shoving Mudslide bottles into the coolers in the darkened garage, something green, plastic, and glowing is thrust under my nose, followed by Emmett's distinctive roar of laughter.

I jump back from the alien-looking item, fully aware of a lifetime of pranks from my brother.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask, glaring at him as Rose slides her arm around his waist. I do a double-take, looking at Rose who has decided tonight to go with white cut-off shorts that barely cover her ass, and a blue blazer with shoulder pads. She's got the big hair thing going on and I wonder how much hairspray she must go through in a week.

"Rose got it for you at the _partay,_" he says, smirking as he waves it in front of my face.

"What the hell is it?" I poke it with my finger, intrigued the texture.

"Edward, meet Gigi. Gigi, _this_ is Edward," Rose says, giggling her head off.

"Gigi? Seriously?"

"Your new right hand best friend," she says.

"Or left. It works with either hand, right, babe?" Emmett asks, seriously.

Rose stares at Emmett for a beat, before shaking her head and taking Gigi from his hand, reaching for mine and dropping it into my palm "It's a super stretchy masturbation sleeve. They modeled it after a real vagina!"

"For fuck's sake. Are you serious?"

"Oh! And it's reversible! And here…" She slides it over my fingers. "It's ribbed for pleasure," she says, lifting her overly plucked eyebrows. "And it warms up just like a real va jay jay!"

I shake my head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Move it over your fingers!" she barks at me. "It feels real, right?"

"Jesus Christ, Rose. I'm not—"

"Just do it!" She glares at me, her hands on her hips.

"Alright! Alright! Keep your shirt on!" I grimace, slowly moving fingers, feeling how the sleeve tightens around them, with a faint slurping sound.

"It kind of sounds like Jell-o," Emmett, notes. "Don't ya, think?" I nod as we all stand in the middle of my dimly lit garage, watching the green luminescent glow from Gigi and listening to the rhythmic slurp-slurp-slurp as I pulse it over my fingers.

"Hmm…" I furrow my brow. Not exactly like the real thing… but not bad.

"See? Imagine when it's on your cock, Eddie. All nice and snug just like… well, the last person who was nice and snug for you," Rose babbles.

"Okay. Enough talk about my cock and this… thing."

"It glows in the dark, dude!" Emmett says enthusiastically. "How cool is that?"

"It's kind of sticky," I reply hesitantly.

"It's supposed to be. Keep it away from whatever other kinky shit you have. Instructions are in here." Rose says, holding up a neon pink bag. "And I even got you some lube and cleaner. Oh and it's got a strawberry flavor to it if you ever want to use it with… someone. And you're welcome." Rose smirks, passing me the pink bag, turning in her white platform sandals and marching towards the door of the garage.

"Un-fucking-believable," I murmur.

"Cool shit, right?" Emmett asks, his eyes not moving from Gigi. "Well, I'll let you two get to know each other. I've got some tiki torches to light."

"Mhmm… Take the cooler out, Emm." I nod to the packed cooler on the floor of the garage as he chuckles, lifting it easily before leaving me alone with my new glow-in-the-dark-right-or-left-hand-best-friend.

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

Knocking loudly for the fifth time at the red painted door, I hold a bottle of Patron in my right hand and shift anxiously. I'm rarely nervous, but the rushed shower and the emergency stop at the Liquor Mart to pick up something for Jane has me frazzled. Once again, obviously something from the mother must have sunk in over the years; never arrive to a house without a gift for the hostess. Though I'm fairly certain my mother would not approve of Patron as a hostess gift, I didn't exactly have time to browse through _The Bay_ looking for the perfect present.

Jane's house, once I actually found it, is a nice bungalow on a quiet cul-de-sac. I'm thankful yet again for Charlie and his gift of the TomTom prior to my departure from Ottawa. I would have been driving in circles without the GPS.

I had to park several houses down due to the sheer volume of cars banking either side of the street. Judging from the gales of laughter that I can hear through the open windows, everyone seems to be having a great time. I'm looking forward to joining them and opening up this Patron. I need a fucking drink.

After what seems like a lifetime, the door finally whips open as does my mouth when a drop dead gorgeous woman who looks like she's a model leans out. She's has a light, airy, floor length red maxi dress on, her auburn hair cascading in curls down around her face.

"Bella?" she asks. "You must be! Jane hoped you would come… I mean to the party." She waves her hand frantically, pressing against the door as she shoos me inside.

I take a step into the foyer, the sounds of giggling floating to me from a near-by room. "I'm Heidi," the super model says. "Jane's girlfriend. And is that Patron?" She holds up her hand, clearly waiting for me to high five her, which I do. "Sweet! I love you already."

I laugh, kicking off my sandals, and drop my purse to the floor with the myriad of others that are piled in the tiny entryway.

"You're just in time," she gushes. "We're about to start the next round of Bingo!"

"Oh right! I have a dabber." She practically vibrates with excitement beside me at this piece of ridiculous news while I fish the dollar store dabber out of my bottomless purse.

"Great! Come on, and we'll get you a drink!"Heidi drapes an arm around my shoulder and steers me in the direction of the squeals of laughter.

I take in the home as we make our way down a narrow corridor, the voices growing louder. Refinished hardwood floors, crisp white walls with random black and white pictures set in red frames are scattered haphazardly down the hallway.

Up ahead, I see more red and white furniture… actually, everything seems to be red and white in the place. The chairs, the light fixtures, the leather couches, the pillows. It's like a big homage to the Canadian flag.

Stopping at the edge of the large sunken living room, Heidi puts two fingers into her mouth, whistling above the hum of the room.

"Everyone!" she bellows.

Shit! I feel my face heat as a hush falls over the room, and all eyes turn their attention to Heidi and me. I give a weak wave. I'm not a fan of being the centre of attention, particularly when I don't know anyone.

"This is Bella!" she waves her hand down me ala Vanna White style and I feel my face flush. I step down into the living room, holding up the Patron bottle, a move which receives a round of applause and a couple of hoots. I relax a bit at the reaction. At least they aren't opposed to tequila. They can't be that bad.

Heidi proceeds to fly through the names of everyone seated in the room, and I have trouble keeping up. I highly doubt that I'll remember them all, particularly after a few drinks. I have yet to speak to a soul in this town with the exception of the pretty boy earlier today- who quite frankly was distracting at best with his faded jeans and scruffy jaw - and Jane who waves to me from her perch behind an oval-shaped glass bar.

I feel myself being given me the once over by the roomful of strangers as Jane approaches, placing a red plastic lei over my head. I'm pretty sure I saw these in the party aisle of Dollarama this afternoon.

"There! You just got lei'd!" she gushes, earning another round of laughter.

I run my fingers over the plastic, taking note that everyone else also has one around their necks.

"Lucky me."

Heidi thrusts a red, plastic cup filled with some sort of mystery pink drink in front of me. I shrug without asking what's in it, and take a sip.

_Holy fuck!_ There's a lot of alcohol in here.

"It's Alice's secret tropical orgasm!" Heidi gushes, pointing to who I think she said was Alice as I nearly choke on a mouthful.

"I thought it suited the party!" Alice, says, holding out her red plastic cup, waving it at Jane. "And I need a refill, barkeep!" I can't help but smile at this group of extremely eclectic weirdos. I think I'll fit in just fine for the night with Alice's dyed purple hair, and everyone's apparent love of alcohol.

Taking the Patron from my hand Jane laughs, moving quickly to Alice's cup and refilling it from the large punch bowl on the bar.

"Come sit next to Esme and me!" The dye-job next to Alice says, patting the red leather cushion beside her.

Feeling the eyes of the room on me, I move across the fluffy white throw rug and sink down to the couch. I eagerly drain back the orgasmic punch. It's damn good. I can feel the brain cells dying already. Perfect.

Sitting between the dye-job, whose outfit looks as if she raided an eighties teenager's closet, and this Esme who kind of reminds me of my mother, is a little surreal. I chuckle to myself at the thought of my mother at a sex toy party. She would be mortified to know I'm here. Esme seems right at home though, completely relaxed and offering me a friendly smile.

"Were you just visiting Selkirk, Bella?" Esme asks while she sips away happily on her drink.

"No. I actually just moved here."

"Why would someone voluntarily move to Hellkirk?" a nasally voice asks, and I turn my head to the offending sound, narrowing my eyes at the waif who sits in a folding chair across the room. Typical nerd it looks like; poker straight hair, thick, black glasses and her nose stuck up in the air like she's better than everyone else.

"I wanted a change," I offer with a shrug.

"From..." she prompts.

"Angela," Alice hisses, nudging her slightly and looking annoyed.

"From everything."

"Well if you like boring days, mosquitoes, and catfish, you came to the right place," Angela says, rolling her eyes.

"Catfish?"

"Out of the Red River. My husband fishes all the time," Esme says happily, taking another sip before reaching to set her drink on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

My eyes fall to her blue top and the word KINK boldly splashed across her chest.

"Hey, I was in that place today."

"Oh! You ride?" Alice asks excitedly as Jane passes back her refill.

"Ah, definitely not. I thought it was sex shop."

Esme chokes, covering her mouth as she nearly spits out her drink.

"Edward would have loved that," Jane chimes in, moving back behind the bar.

"He loves anything associated with sex," another female voice echoes through the room, followed by a few muffled giggles.

"This is true," the dyed-blonde agrees.

"Sorry. Who's Edward?" I ask to the room. I'm greeted with a few snorts and smirks.

"Oh, you would know if you met him," Angela states smugly.

"I would?"

"Please. He's not that interesting. Not like my Emmie." Blondie gets a dreamy look on her face and quickly drains back the rest of her punch.

"Those are my sons you're talking about," Esme says with a grin."They own Kink." Ah, so pretty boy has a name, and apparently gets around judging by what I've just heard. Why am I not surprised?

"Sorry, Esme. That's awful. We're talking about them like they're pieces of meat or something," Alice says apologetically.

"Like they wouldn't do the same thing," Angela states, narrowing her eyes at Alice. "It's not like there's anything else exciting to do here but gossip."

"Don't listen to Angela," an older woman in a lime green nylon track suit says. The suit makes a swooshing noise as she waves her arm in front of Angela. "Selkirk is a great place to live! We've got lakes and boating, and beaches nearby. Oh, and the fair starts up next weekend!" she prattles on.

"That's great! I hope to have the truck sorted by then. It will be a good place to test it out."

"Truck?"Alice asks, leaning forward in her chair.

"I bought an ice cream truck." My matter-of-fact statement is met with silence as they all look at me like I'm from another planet. "Seems a bit crazy, right?"

"No, no, not at all," Esme says, patting my leg. "People thought Edward and Emmett were crazy for starting the bike shop too and look at where it got them."

Crazy... I think that's a good description for me at the moment, as I sit, on what is only my second night in a new town, at a sex toy party. Again, I'm amazed at where my priorities lie.

"Well, I'm pretty sure, doling out soft serve isn't going to make me independently wealthy, but I needed a change... so here I am."

"I could never do something like that," Rose reflects. "Just up and leave everything. You've got balls, girlfriend... well, not really, but you know you what I mean."

Balls? I wouldn't say that. A more accurate description is spontaneous. I tend to do things without totally thinking them through. And the truth is, Charlie is really the only person that was holding me to Ottawa. He's the only one I'm really going to miss.

Sure, I had a circle of friends, but as they slowly married off and moved into the next phase of their lives, I got left behind... forgotten to be invited to baby showers or birthday parties. I'm not bitter about it. I actually get it. What does a single woman without a relationship in a joke of a job have in common with these people? Little to nothing.

"Have you got your permits all sorted, dear?" Lime green suit asks, bringing me back to the present.

Shit! Permits? Those details are sketchy at best. When I spoke to Riley Biers, the current owner who is selling the truck in favour of moving to Vancouver for a high paying executive recruitment job, he said all the appropriate permit and licenses were in place. "Um... I think so." It sounds more like a question, and she shakes her head in disapproval.

"I work at city hall. Come on in tomorrow and we'll make sure you're all squared away. Just ask for Shelly Cope, dear."

"That's really nice of you," I say sincerely.

"Now! Bring on round two! There's a pink fun bag over there with my name on it!" Shelly yells as the room erupts in cat calls.

_**KINK**_

Several orgasmic drinks later, the laughter is bouncing off the walls in Jane's living room. I actually can't remember the last time I've laughed this hard. It's amazing what a little competition over vibrators and massage oil will do to a group of women.

"Under the B - 6!" Heidi yells out excitedly as the dabbers in the room fly over the Bingo cards.

"Bingo!" Rose yells, jumping up off the couch and waving her Bingo card in the air.

"No, you're supposed to say orgasm!" Esme shouts, laughing as some of her punch spills out over the top of her plastic cup.

"Shit!" Rose yells as I dab the B6 square on my Bingo card.

"Orgasm!" Both Rose and I yell at the same time.

"A tie!" Heidi jumps up from her perch behind the bar, looking at Jane frantically. "What do we do in case of a tie, babe?"

"How about we find out where the last place was you had sex. Most interesting spot wins!"

Oh fuck. I cringe internally at this brain wave of a tie breaker. While the sex itself wasn't great and was over in record time, I think I may actually win this one. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to be mortified revealing this little piece of information to perfect strangers... and it was little, hence the reason it only lasted five minutes, I think.

"You go first, Rose," Jane says with authority.

"Okay..." Blondie Rose clears her throat, like she's getting ready to make some important speech. "On the couch...wait, actually it was over the side of the couch in the back office at Kink."

Esme just about spits out her drink. "Sorry," Rose whispers, giggling her head off.

"Oh dear heaven," Esme murmurs, draining back her drink while the room erupts in laughter.

"With Emmett, right?" Angela asks, earning a death stare from Rose.

"Of course with Emmett," Rose snaps.

Angela looks somewhat relieved as she tries to shake off the glare from Rose. "Just checking," she replies with a grin.

"That's classic! Okay, your turn, Bella!" Jane says, smirking as she waits.

I feel the heat rise in my face as they all turn to look at me. Normally, I wouldn't be embarrassed about talking about my sex life. I've only just laid eyes on these people, however. Guess first impressions are going out the window. I casually glance at my empty cup... who am I kidding? First impressions went out the window several glasses of punch ago.

"Okay, keep in mind I hadn't had sex in a while," I start.

Rose snickers beside me, nudging me in the arm. "What's a while? Like a few days?"

"More like a few months."

"Oh, hell, Bella. That's just wrong!" Shelly says, looking horrified. Even Mrs. Cope, borderline geriatric is having more sex than me.

"What's the longest you've gone without a little lovin' from Daddy C, Esme?"Shelly asks.

"I'll take a pass on that question, if I may," Esme replies coyly.

Alice and Rose giggle. "Oh come on! We're all friends here. Spill it, woman!" Heidi presses.

"Let's just say _Daddy C_ keeps me very satisfied and leave it at that, shall we?" She's trying to be all mysterious, but there's a telling smirk she's unsuccessfully trying to hide behind her cup of punch.

"Anyway, I thought we were waiting to hear from Bella," Esme says, grinning at me.

_Damn!_ Guess I'm not getting out of this that easily.

All eyes fall once again to me. "Okay. It was just supposed to be a motorcycle ride, and well, it kind of lead to… you know." I wave my hand dismissively, hoping that will be enough information.

"On a motorcycle?" Jane asks, lifting a brow.

"Yep." I nod, desperately wishing my punch wasn't gone.

"How?" Alice asks.

"Well, I was facing the guy while he was sitting on the bike and then-."

"Wait. Was it moving?" Rose asks, looking confused.

"Was what moving?"

"The motorcycle. Was he like driving it?"

"Oh God no. I'm not into death wishes. I did get a burn on my leg though."

Laughter fills the room as Jane approaches with a large pink neon gift bag. "No contest. A motorcycle wins over a sofa fuck any day of the week in my book," she states, holding the bag out to me.

"Woo hoo!" I take the bag, raising my empty glass. "To motorcycles!"

Rose, Esme, and I crack up as everyone raises their glasses while Jane moves back to the bar. Clearing her throat, she announces to the room, "Okay, ladies! Who wants to buy some toys?"

_**KINK**_

Two hours later, once the effects of Alice's punch wore off and we were declared by Heidi as fit to drive, I'm hauling several pink neon bags up the dimly lit stairwell to my apartment. I'm going to need to sell a whole hell of a lot of ice cream to pay for the absurd amount of shit I bought tonight.

I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep in my bed. I'm also looking forward to the bonfire that Alice insisted I'm going to tomorrow night at none other than Edward's place. Given the gossip I heard tonight about him, that should prove interesting, I think.

Finally reaching the landing, I push open the stairwell door and head down the hall, stopping in my tracks as my eyes fall to a man, fumbling with a key ring that has so many keys on it he could probably use it as a weapon. What is more troubling is the fact that he's stopped in front of my door.

And there it is. You know that tingling feeling you get – not in a good way – that something is just not right. Unfortunately, the echoing click of the door as it shuts behind me makes an unnoticed retreat impossible.

The man whips his head toward the sound, taking a step away from the door as I take a quick scan of him. Gelled back sandy blonde hair, a light blue polo shirt tucked into a pair of skinny jeans that are way too tight for him, and gleaming white high tops-like just out of the box white.

He grins at me and I take a tentative step forward. "You must be Isabella," he says, his eyes raking down me and causing me to stop again.

"Must I be?" I lift a brow. "And you must be someone who I need to call the cops on if you're trying to get into my apartment," I say in a moment of boldness.

"No! Wait… I can explain this," he says nervously, taking a series of steps towards me.

"So explain. You've got exactly sixty seconds, pal." I have no idea where my sudden appearance of bravado is coming from in what could be a dangerous situation for me. Maybe it's the endorphins that are still coursing through my system from a night of laughter, maybe it's that I'm just damn tired, and really, really need to sleep.

"I own the building. I'm Mike… Mike Newton," he stammers. I narrow my eyes at him as he shoves his hand out to me.

"Bella. Bella Swan."

So this is the absentee owner who didn't even bother to send anyone to check on me. The rocket scientist who thinks duct tape is the answer to everything.

I shift the bags, trying to free my hand to shake his. You can tell a lot about a person by how they shake hands, Charlie always says. I'll have to find out the story behind how on earth my father knows this idiot.

Trying to gather all the bags in one arm is a task doomed for failure, and soon the contents are spilling out over the dingy carpeted hallway.

"Shit," I murmur, sinking down as Mike's eyes widen, and he crouches beside me, picking up a tube of Tasty Tease Crème, and holding it out to me as I push a purple G-swirl stimulator into the bag.

His smirk widens as his voice lowers. "I think we're going to get along just fine

Chapter end notes:

Thoughts?

Gigi– Yes – it does exist and glows in the dark. Check the product section of the passion party website.

Alice's Secret Tropical Orgasm:

Pink lemonade 1/2 bottle Vodka (Smirnoff – try flavoured if you're feeling adventurous) 1/4 bottle strawberry Daiquiri mix ,1 splash or more of Rum (Appleton's if you can get it), ice.

Twitter: CarLemon

Up next Monday – A bonfire, a few drinks. Seems innocent enough, right?


	4. Chapter 4

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who indulges my love of commas. Much love! Check out her latest story now complete *sniff* Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. XO!

Thanks to all those reading and those who review. I love hearing your thoughts on this little story.

Onward with chapter 4.

Come join me.

Chapter 4

_**Bella**_

I lift a brow to Mr. 1987, grabbing the flavoured crème from his hand and shoving it with the rest of my purchases into the bags quickly before standing up.

"We will get along _just fine _as you say, if you fix that sorry excuse for an air conditioner you've got set up in there." He looks hurt by my words, his mouth dropping open. "Oh, please. Who secures an air conditioner with duct tape?"

He grins at me. "It's still in the window, isn't it?" he asks cockily.

I return his smug grin. "That must be why you were trying to get into my apartment, then? To check on it, right?" Slimy idiot.

"Um…" He shifts nervously. "Yeah, that's why. I wanted to make sure it was working. Weather is due to be hot next week, you know. And I did knock," he stammers. "There wasn't any answer." Like this is an adequate explanation somehow.

"Mhmm… You'll fix it properly and soon. Do we understand each other?"

He nods to me and I move down the hall, fumbling with my keys in my black hole of a purse, feeling his heated stare on me the whole time.

Finally, I fish the keys out, shoving them into the lock and pushing open the door, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight, Bella," he says, grinning as he turns to make his way down the hall.

An involuntary shudder goes through me - not in a good way - as I step into the apartment with my bags, shutting the door behind me.

Right. Deadbolt it is tonight.

_**KINK**_

My hot dream of a stubbled jaw buried between my legs gets rudely interrupted with a massively loud crash, causing me to bolt upright in the bed. I whip my head from side to side in the darkness, squinting as I fumble blindly for my glasses, my heart hammering while I slide them on, scrambling to turn on the light on the nightstand.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the influx of light, until finally I focus on the now open bedroom window, minus one aging, duct-taped air conditioner. Scowling, I slide off the bed and make my way to the window.

I shake my head at the strips of silver duct tape that stick out from the frame, my eyes falling to the air conditioner which is now upside down on the hardwood floor and making a hissing sound.

I unplug the damn thing, moving back to the window to peer out into the humid night, down to the parking lot below. It's a lovely view in the middle of the night; a few of the lights in the parking lot are blown out, and I can see the glow from the neon sign coming out the back of the Mac's convenience store off in the distance. At least the air conditioner didn't fall onto my car.

_Always looking for the bright side, Bella._

Pushing away from the open window, I pull the quilt mom made me off the end of the bed, and haul my desk chair to the window. I climb up onto the seat and drape the quilt over the curtain rod. There's no goddamn way I want to be woken up by the sun streaming into the room in a few hours.

Yanking off a couple of pieces of the lingering duct tape, I attach them to the edge of the quilt, pressing the end of the strips to the wall, hoping it will hold.

Mom would be mortified if she knew her handmade gift was hanging up by stray pieces of duct tape over an open window. She gave it to me when I dropped in on her in Toronto en route to Manitoba. It was the only real scheduled stop I had.

After she got over the shock when I called to tell her I was moving out of the province, she prepared a care package for me. Mostly, it includes things I will never use; like underwear – the granny panty kind, travel shampoo – a brand I don't use, a first aid kit, a copy of the King James Bible, and pepper spray. It was a sweet gesture, and I can't really complain about the contents of the box. It's not like my mother has been around to know what I like, need or want.

As I step down from the chair, I smile up at the quilt. It's mostly neutral tones with a bear in the middle square. Again, not something that really suits me, but her heart was in the right place. I had no idea she even knew how to quilt. I guess, we both share the blame for drifting apart over the last few years. The phone does work both ways after all. I should have called her more. I could have visited her or invited her down to Ottawa to stay for a weekend. It's not like Toronto is light years away or something.

Climbing back into bed, I pull my glasses off, placing them on the nightstand and switching off the light.

Should have. Could have. Would have. How often have I started a sentence like that? Closing my eyes, I make a promise to not live my life that way anymore.

_**KINK**_

"And I've got enough toppings and supplies to last you a good couple of months," Riley Biers explains to me as we stand inside his… now _my _ice cream truck, _The Creamy Dream_. "Sprinkles, chipits, waffle cones, straws, napkins. The works!"

Riley and his wife, Victoria, who's frizzy red hair looks like it's a result of a bad accident with a curling iron and an electrical socket, have spent the last few hours going over the workings of the truck. It's not rocket science by any means, but I had no idea how to work a soft serve machine until now.

I try it a few times, getting soft serve all over me and Riley in the process, but I get the hang of it pretty fast. Riley gives me a map of the places the truck is licensed to park and sell from, as well as a few camp sites and beach hang outs around the area that they makes runs to on a daily basis.

Apparently, the Creamy Dream with its tinny music is quite the crowd pleaser. I think it may have more to do with Riley than the ice cream, if I'm being honest. He's a talker, and cute, in a boy-next-door who may be hiding a secret kind of way.

Riley hops down from the back of the white truck, and I follow him, staring up at my spur of the moment purchase. The truck is pristine. You could eat off the floors if you were into that kind of thing. There are decals of various ice cream products on all sides, and a big soft serve cone attached to the front. If ice cream trucks can be cute, this one is.

Riley drops the keys into my hand and I smile at the tiny, silver ice cream cone key chain that dangles from the ring. "She's all yours, Bella. Take good care of her," he says, hugging me before taking Victoria's hand and moving back to their minivan.

He beeps the horn, both of them waving out the windows before they disappear out of the apartment parking lot.

And just like that, the Creamy Dream is mine.

_**KINK**_

"Bella! Down here, dear!" Shelly Cope leans over the counter inside Selkirk City Hall, waving her arm frantically in my direction.

Smiling at her, I hold the file folder Riley gave me against my chest and I make my way over to the counter, chuckling at the lack of a line in the place. City Hall in Ottawa is a nightmare at the best of the times.

"Hi, Shelly." I set the folder on the counter in front of me, and she wastes no time, sliding it towards her and opening it, her light, blue nylon jacket making a swishing sound in the process.

"Oh! It was Riley's truck," she notes, scanning the paperwork inside the folder. "Oh, well you'll have no trouble at all, dear. He took really good care of it."

"It is in pretty good shape," I say like I know what I'm talking about.

She whips through the file, stamping a few documents, and adding more to the folder. "Did you enjoy your… " She leans closer to me, coming out of her chair for a second. "…purchases last night?" she asks with a grin, waggling her eyebrows.

"Oh, I didn't really have time to use them." I cringe, hoping she doesn't launch into some description about what she and her husband did with her purchases last night. That's definitely information I don't need to know.

"Well, damn, Bella. You need to get on that!" she says, grinning at me. "You know, I have a nephew."

I shake my head at her not so subtle offer. "Thanks, Shelly, but I'm doing okay for now. I'll keep it in mind though."

She nods, swiveling in her chair to the printer and retrieving a document. "Don't let it go too long now, dear. You know what they say about oiling the gears."

I furrow my brow. "No… what do they say?" I'm fairly certain I don't want to know the answer, though the lady sitting behind the counter beside Shelly seems to be all ears.

"Keep 'em oiled or they rust up and die. My nephew could help with that!"

_**KINK**_

With my permits and various licenses safely tucked in the folder, I make my way to the Trans Am, sliding in and deciding to get a little more acquainted with the metropolis of Selkirk and its surroundings. I haven't seen much since arriving; Jane's house, the area around Kink and Dollarama, and my apartment.

Driving through the streets, the small town vibe is evident in everything from the mix of old Victorian houses and newer buildings in the 'downtown,' to the park nestled by the waterfront on the Red River, to the beat up, rusted old boats at the Marine museum.

There are a few gas stations and grocery stores, a fire house, some tourist shops, a couple of questionable looking hotels, and a general store along the main street that has all of four traffic lights.

I actually get out of the car at the tiny McDonald's on Main Street, almost causing an accident as I spot a giant, grinning sculpture of a catfish perched outside the golden arches. Further inspection of the bronze plaque on the front explains it to be _Chuck the Catfish_ - Dedicated to good sport and good fishing. He's green, yellow and probably thirty feet high. I take a picture of it for Charlie with my phone, sending it to him. He would love this. Chuck however, is not going to have a place of honour on my arm.

There are a few tourists milling about - older men with their fishing gear piled into the open beds of their aging Dodge Ram trucks. They ask me to take a picture of them in front of Chuck, which I happily do. I stupidly ask what they're fishing for. "Best catfishing in the world!" one of the old guys remarks after they get over their laughter at my ridiculous question. "Pulled a thirty pounder from the Red last year." My eyes widen at the mention of a thirty pound fish. Don't those just come from the ocean?

"You should come to the campground. Fish fry every night," another one of the old guys with no teeth offers.

At least I have my social calendar set up if I can't find anything else to do.

Back in the Trans Am, I cross a small bridge over the Red River, and head into literally the middle of the nowhere. Fields, fields, and more fields as far as you can see. Farming country abounds until I pull into the sleepy town of Gimli, the heart of New Iceland, according to the little sign that greets me.

Turning down what I assume is the main drag, I see waterfront in the distance and pull the Trans Am to park on the last street before the harbour. I don't even have to fight for a parking spot.

Slipping my sunglasses onto the top of my head, I wander through the little craft market that borders the harbour, and make my way along the waterfront. The harbour itself is a matrix of wooden docks lined with fishing boats in a wide variety of sizes. The seagulls are making their presence known, soaring over the boats and squawking away as they search for food. It's idyllic.

There's a painted mural that stretches the length of the pier where local artists have created various scenes along the seawall. Several people are casting fishing rods over the top of the wall and fishing the afternoon away in contentment.

Leaning over the wall, I take in the tranquil beach below. It stretches out and around a bend and is dotted with umbrellas, beach towels, and families relaxing under the warmth of the sun along the shoreline.

Passing a few tourist shops, and an ice cream store, I kick off my sandals, carrying them with me as I make my way along the boardwalk before sinking into the warm sand. I wade into the water as it laps lazily against my ankles. Looking out to the lake, a few sailboats dot the horizon, and two jet skis speed past, the echoing laughter of the passengers onboard filling the air.

Life moves a little more slowly in Gimli. You can feel it. There's no rush hour, no stress to be anywhere in particular. It's a place you can go and just be for a while, and I like it. I like it a lot.

Scanning the boardwalk to the left, my eyes fall on a large sculpture and I push my way through the sand, slipping my sandals back on as I take in the massive Viking statue. It's facing away from the shore of the lake and is probably fifteen feet tall. They seem to like their oversized sculptures in this area. I take a picture and send it to dad before making my way down the street, chuckling to myself.

There are a few people heading to and from the beach, and tourists stopped for a quick lunch on the patios of the small restaurants and cafes along the sidewalk. I duck into a clothing store close to my car, the little bells ringing against the window as it shuts behind me.

Not seeing anyone behind the cash, I wander through the eclectic mix of bohemian styled clothing. Strangely, there are also various types of Viking helmets perched on top of the mannequins and clothing racks. I put one on, laughing at my reflection in a mirror against the wall.

"It suits you!" I turn in the direction of the female voice, surprised to see Rose, heading up from the back of the store with an armful of scarves. "You should get it," she says happily.

"It's a small world," I say, keeping the helmet on.

"Especially around here!"

I laugh, looking through the tank tops on the rack. "I was just driving around, trying to get my bearings, you know?"

"Well that probably took all of about ten minutes," she says, setting the scarves into a display case at the front of the store. "Are you shopping for something to wear to the bonfire tonight? Oh! You should wear the helmet!"

Chuckling, I pull out a distressed, burgundy tank top from the rack, holding it up against my chest as I look in the mirror. "The helmet would make an impression, I guess." Turning back to Rose, I head to the register with the top. "So, what can I expect at this thing tonight?"

She takes the shirt, punching in some numbers on the antique looking cash register. "Typical bonfire stuff. Lots of people drinking, Jasper will try to sing while Edward plays the guitar, someone usually ends up trying to skinny dip. It's a lot of fun!"

I nod, grinning at her description. Hmm... So, pretty boy Edward plays the guitar. Interesting. Very interesting.

Rose and I end up having lunch at one of the nearby patios with me still wearing the Viking helmet she threw in for free with the tank top I bought. Rose is a riot - probably one of the most frank and open I've ever met. She simply doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about her, and is completely content and happy with her life the way it is. More people need to be like Rose—content. We're always looking for more. Why can't we just happy with what we have?

We go through a few embarrassing TMI moments when she describes in vivid detail Emmett's excitement and lack of knowledge on some of her purchases from the party last night. By the end of the lunch, my stomach hurts from laughing so much. It's beyond refreshing to be with someone who doesn't judge me the way some of my so called friends in Ottawa do.

She gives me a hug outside of the store and I make my way back to the car, Viking helmet firming in place as I take my time driving back home... Home. I guess that's what this is now.

_**KINK**_

I sit on the counter in the kitchen, sampling my vodka infused gummy bears that I left to soak this morning as Mike and his hulk-like Neanderthal superintendent work away fixing the sad excuse for an air conditioner in my bedroom.

Felix, the super, doesn't really talk... he just grunts and lumbers around like he's pissed off at the world. I hope there aren't many other repairs required in the apartment. The less I have to deal with Felix, the better.

For tonight, I've opted to go with my new tank top and a pair of black jeans with wedge sandals that I actually can walk in without killing myself. I hope this passes as bonfire attire. As Mike and Felix work away, I've gotten a few texts from both Alice and Rose asking if I'm lost. I guess the real answer is yes, but I let them know I'll be on my way shortly, and that there's no need to send out the cavalry just yet.

Finally, Felix and Mike emerge from the bedroom, carrying enough tools to sink a ship.

"It's good as new," Mike declares, eyeing the container of gummy bears.

I grin, holding it out to both of them. "Try one."

"Gummy bears?" Mike questions, lifting a brow as Felix dives in, taking a fist full.

"Special ones. Just don't eat too many at once. Everything in moderation," I say, quoting my mother, though I'm sure she would be less than impressed that I'm about to take a container of vodka laced candy to a party. At least I'm bringing something.

Felix grunts what I assume is a thank you before disappearing out the door, leaving a lingering Mike chewing away as his eyes stay fixed on my chest. "I like those…These I mean," he says quickly correcting himself, but not lifting his gaze from my tits.

"Is that right?" I lift a brow, hopping down from the counter and snapping the lid onto the bears. "So, I won't be woken up in the middle of the night anymore?" I ask, moving to the door as Mike's eyes drift down my body.

"Not by the air conditioner, no," he says with a grin. The involuntary-not-in-a-good-way shudder returns as I stand at the open door.

Right. Must remember to deadbolt the door… again.

_**KINK**_

With Roger Moore's soothing voice guiding me on my faithful TomTom, I find myself driving down an empty stretch of road along the shoreline of Lake Winnipeg as night begins to fall.

I'm in the middle of cottage country, with boats bobbing against docks and ATV's in driveways. It's a peaceful drive – not a traffic jam to be found.

"Keep right. This car is not designed to go on the water," Roger calmly informs me.

"What is it about British accents?" I ask out loud, glancing at a raised lighthouse that comes into view as I round a corner and start to slow down.

I chuckle to myself as Roger informs me I have reached my destination. Maybe I can introduce myself as Swan… Bella Swan.

Pulling in behind the last in a long line of cars, I grab my purse and the container of gummies, and start walking in the direction of the music drifting to me from the beach.

Weaving my way through the cars and approaching the front of a bungalow, I hear loud giggling. Someone sounds really drunk. I've been there. It's easy to recognize the signs. Everything is funny when you've had enough to drink.

Moving up the walkway outside of the house, I stop in my tracks, my eyes landing on the back of the pretty boy himself. His tousled hair looks like it just had a fight with several pairs of hands, and appears wilder than it did yesterday. I'm able to get a good look at his damn fine ass currently sitting perfectly in a pair of faded jeans. His black t-shirt sits snug across his shoulders, the hem brushing the belt of his jeans. Also hanging off of him are two extremely drunk, horny women.

The scene seems to fit with the descriptions I heard yesterday. Apparently, Edward likes his women drunk.

"Noooooo," whines one of the women as I try to hide my amusement. "Don't make us go. The party's just get started."

"Jennie…" Edward starts as she clings to him.

"It's Julia," she slurs, causing me to let out a laugh. He doesn't even know her name. It's an amusing little train wreck to watch.

He turns his head in my direction and I lift a brow, smirking at him, my eyes taking in the stubble darkening his jaw. He looks delicious, a little bit dangerous, and also in need of help. If it wasn't so amusing to watch him, I might just do that.

"Trouble in paradise?" I ask with a grin.

He shakes his head slowly, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin, his eyes never leaving mine. "A cab is on the way for…" He looks down at the two women who are practically falling out of their barely-there skin tight t-shirts, and seems to lose his train of thought.

"Julia?" I ask, moving towards him, the smell of gin and desperation drifting to me from the drunken women.

"She knows my name! Why can't you rememba my name, Eddie?" Julia slurs, blinking up at him as her friend trails her hand up his arm. "It's Jul-ia," she says slowly, tripping forward. "J. U.L… What comes next?" She dissolves against his side in a fit of giggles, burying her face against his shirt.

"Shit." I hear him mumble under his breath, rolling his eyes skyward in frustration.

I laugh as a honking from the road floats to us.

"Saved by the cab gods?"

"Thank fuck," he grumbles, steering Julia and her nameless sidekick in my direction.

"Awwww, Eddie. You're no fun at—" Julia's words are abruptly cut off as she lurches forward. I know what's coming next, having been this trashed myself more times than I care to admit, and I jump out of the way, losing my balance and falling spectacularly onto the ground as she hurls.

Chapter end notes:

Chuck the Channel Cat – Yes , he does exist. Fantastic roadside attraction.

Gimli: AKA Gimmel. A lovely Icelandic town in Manitoba. Fabulous harbour, lovely Canadian small town.

Vodka infused gummy bears – Fabulous. Try them - In moderation, of course.

Up next Monday – let's hear from pretty boy himself.

Twitter: CarLemon


	5. Chapter 5

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug. Much love! Check out her latest story Reluctant Hearts. It's now completed, even though I am in denial about this fact.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Her support means more to me than I can express. Read her new story Starting Over!

Thanks to those who are reading and those who are reviewing-it truly makes my day.

Onward with chapter 5. Remember… summer fun – no angst – there's lots of time for that elsewhere.

Come join me.

* * *

_**Chapter 5**_

_**Edward**_

For the love of fucking God. This is what my life has been reduced to. Puking nurses in my driveway.

Naughty One tumbles to the ground in an impressive effort to get the hell out of the way, somehow managing to stay clear from the line of fire, hoisting one hand over her head with the container she's carrying while I look on in shock.

Of course her enticing tank top rides up, revealing a sliver of her stomach and a hint of ink that my eyes immediately fall on. I cock my head to the side to study it further, transfixed by the thin line of blue ink that disappears into the band of her sinfully low-riding black jeans.

Mine get tighter.

I should not be turned on right now, what with the puking that is currently continuing in the lilac bushes that line the front of my house, but what I should and shouldn't be doing seems to be blurring at the moment.

The honking continues from the cab parked on the street that I'll pay triple to if it means they will get these two drunken nurses out of my sight. It's all fun and games until someone pukes next to your guests… particularly this guest.

If this doesn't cure me of my desire for a one night stand, I'm not sure what will. Normally I'd welcome two inebriated nurses falling all over me, but the amount of slurred speech that has come from the pair of them tonight borders on embarrassing.

"Ewwww!" Sidekick Nurse practically whines as she drapes an arm around Julia… yes, that's her name, while she bends over the shrubs. "Y'alright?" She's lost the ability to actually separate her words. They just all flow together, but the two of them seem to understand each other.

Julia nods weakly, hurling once more and I stand there like an idiot. I'm torn between helping Naughty One, -who inexplicably has found her way to my house, not that I'm complaining- and getting these two out of my yard. I choose Naughty One, holding a hand out, my eyes locking to hers as she slides her tiny hand into mine.

I can feel gravel from the drive press from her palm to mine as I gently pull her up, immediately turning her hand over. Her palm is a bit red with the slightest tinge of road rash from her impact with the gravel. It reminds me of the constant wipeouts Jasper has - only his are worse.

"Shit," I mumble. "Are you okay?" I lift my eyes back to her face, a ghost of a smile creeping over her fuckable mouth as she nods slowly.

"I'll live." Her tongue brushes over her bottom lip, which does nothing for my already straining cock. "I've had worse," she says quietly, her breath fanning my face as my gaze locks to hers. I brush my thumb over her palm, sending tiny bits of gravel to the ground.

Vaguely, I hear Jasper's voice drift around us from the beach while he tries to channel Cobain, the crickets chirping along rhythmically.

_Here we are now, entertain us._

Her delectable lips curve a bit more, my thumb circling repeatedly over the tender flesh of her palm as we stay locked in some silent, heated exchange. Her eyes drift from mine to my lips and back again, her lips parting slowly.

"I didn't get a chance to intro—"

"Latergateeerrrr!" Sidekick Nurse's high-pitched and annoying voice interrupts my attempt to make conversation. I shut my eyes at the invasive shrill, before turning to watch the nurses wrap their arms around each other, shuffling to the waiting cab.

Nurses… in a cab… Normally that would be a fucking very good visual. I hear giggling and then the distinctive sound of a door shutting followed by gravel crunching as the cab pulls away.

It dawns on me that my thumb hasn't stopped its slow circuit over her palm and now, across her wrist, and she's still standing here, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

"Let's start this again, hmm? I'm Edw—"

"Edward. I know," she says, shifting towards me.

I lift a brow, keeping my gaze on hers as my fingers trail the inside of her arm. "How do you know my name?"

"I was at a party last night with your mom."

My eyes widen. "You were at the dildo party?" That earns me a full-bodied laugh, which means I get to see her tits bounce. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath. It's not enough that she's fuck-hot without the aid of various sex toys. That will fuel my fantasies for a long while. I wonder what she bought.

"That's kind of the point of the party," she says with a smirk, her eyes trailing down to watch my fingers as they brush her skin.

I follow her gaze, unable to stop myself, tracing my fingers over the ink that wraps delicately around her wrist.

"Yeah, I guess it is," I murmur. "I should probably stop this, right?"

"Mmm…" Her throaty non-answer stirs my cock and I lift my eyes back to hers.

_Please don't tell me to stop._

"What's your name, Naughty One?" I manage. "I think it's only fair you tell me since you know mine already."

"Bella. Bella Swan." She grins at some inside joke, shaking her head and lifting the container she's still holding in her free hand between us. "I brought bears," she adds as an afterthought.

I chuckle at how fucking cute she is. "Bears?" My thumb brushes over the back of her hand.

"Mmm… vodka gummy bears," she clarifies with a nod.

"Vodka gummy bears?" I glance at the container filled indeed with tiny multicoloured bears. "Seriously?"

"Want to try one?" she asks, sliding her hand from my hold, popping open the top.

_Not if it means I can't touch you._

I watch as her fingers glide to a green gummy bear, lifting it to my lips. "Try." She wiggles the bear at my bottom lip and I open my mouth without questioning this forward and quite honestly highly erotic behaviour, closing my lips around her fingers.

I hum at the taste of her skin and the slight tang of vodka as the bear slips onto my tongue, my gaze staying locked to hers. She pulls her fingers gradually from my lips, lifting a brow in question as I fight the urge to push her to the opposite side of the house away from the puking incident and fuck her against it.

While I chew slowly, her eyes linger on my lips and I swallow. "Fucking amazing." She breaks into a smile, snapping the top back on the container. "How are you here, just out of curiosity?"

_Not that I'm complaining. Stay as long as you like. I've got something else to put into that sweet mouth._

"Alice and Rose invited me. I hope it's okay," she says, sounding timid all of a sudden, which is quite comical as she's just had her fingers in my mouth. She takes a tentative step back from me.

And now I feel like an idiot.

_Because you are. Way to go, genius._

"Of course it's okay. The more the merrier." I rake my hand through my hair nervously as the music from the beach floats between us, filling the awkward silence. "I'm sorry about… that." I motion to the shrubs, glad it's getting darker out and I can't actually see that heaving disaster. I only hope it hasn't hit the house. That would be a bitch to clean up.

"Does that happen to you a lot?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "That? Ah, no. That's a first."

"First with puking disasters or first with having to fight off two women at the same time?" she asks, setting the container of bears against her hip.

I smirk at her boldness and tell her the truth. "The former."

She nods as if she knew that was the answer. "Thought so."

I lift my chin to the house. "Come on. Let's get you a drink…" I lean forward, closer than I probably should but I can't seem to help myself. "_Bella_… Bella Swan."

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

Mudslides should win an award. I've decided to make this my mission next time I'm at the Liquor Mart. I'll start a petition if I have to. I'm sure I can get people to sign it. I'm typically not a fan of these premade drinks, finding most of them syrupy and way too sweet for my liking. These however are fucking fantastic, as evidenced by the fact that I've downed two of them in less than an hour and am currently well on my way to putting a dent in the third.

I'm sitting with a comfortable buzz, relaxed on a Muskoka chair at the edge of a bonfire that is raging into the night, facing Lake Winnipeg. I can feel the brain cells dying as Emmett, Rose's current boyfriend and Edward's brother, hands me a massive marshmallow on a stick because I set fire to the last one and ended up throwing it into the water at the shoreline.

A rookie move. Charlie always roasts the marshmallows whenever we go camping, and quite honestly, I've been a little distracted, what with watching Edward as he strums away effortlessly on his acoustic guitar. I don't know how he manages to look all disheveled and über-relaxed at the same time. It's a gift and I think Edward has a lot of gifts to offer.

Even though he puts up a cocky front, which I'm not going to lie, makes him unbelievably more attractive to me, he seems to be a genuinely good guy. He gave up his chair for me, has been making sure mine and everyone else's drinks get replenished, and is now taking requests for songs as we lounge by the crackling fire.

There are about twenty of us out here, including a few people from what Edward called the _dildo party_ last night, in varying degrees of inebriation. So far, everyone has been very welcoming, but I'm sure that has something to do with the sheer amount of alcohol currently flowing.

It's a close-knit group. I get the feeling that everyone grew up here and even though I should feel like an outsider as they swap stories, often taking a hazy trip down memory lane, I really don't. It's nice to be with people who aren't pretentious and worried about what the neighbours will think of them.

With the exception of Alice and Rose, every other woman here seems to want to take a crack at Edward, some casting sly glances in his direction, others trying to make sure he knows their tits are his for the taking, should he be so inclined. Strangely, Edward doesn't really seem to acknowledge the attention, a fact I find enjoyable even though I shouldn't care.

The vodka bears are a hit and there has been much talk of other combinations we could potentially try. Most of these ideas come from Emmett and Rose who are two of the funniest people I've ever met… again, that may be the alcohol talking, but I'm going to try some JD in place of the vodka next time.

I feel an unusual warmth spread through me as it is just assumed that I'll be at the next bonfire. Acceptance seems to go hand-in-hand with copious amounts of alcohol, so it would seem.

For most of the night, we've been playing _Three Hundred Questions About Bella_ between discussions around me taking over the Creamy Dream. Seems Alice has a sweet tooth and had a tab going with Riley last year. I'm not sure where someone so tiny puts away that much ice cream, but the fact that she hasn't stopped moving since I arrived might be the answer. She's a whirlwind of energy; dancing with Rose barefoot in the sand and leaping up to greet people as they arrive. I wish I had half this amount of energy.

Edward has caught me looking at him more than a few times as he rolls his toothpick over his tongue. It's beyond distracting and incredibly hot. My pulse quickens as our gaze stays locked across the roaring fire for much longer than it probably should for people who hardly know each other. He just lifts a brow and deliberately repeats the move, taunting me, and making me imagine what his tongue would feel like pushing into my mouth or rolling over my clit.

His toned arms flex, my eyes drinking in the practiced movement of his fingers over the strings as the light from the fire flickers between us. He doesn't sing, though I'd really like to hear him and his gravelly voice. He seems content to leave that to Jasper. I take another sip of the Mudslide as my mouth goes dry, and he just curls the corner of his mouth in an extremely sensual way that makes my stomach squeeze and my panties wet.

It's not fucking fair that someone should be this good looking without seeming to have to try at all. A strong jaw, a day of dark scruff, hair in disarray, completely and utterly content to strum away and not give a shit about what anyone thinks of him. Casual confidence is a massive turn on as evidenced by my nipples that tighten with each not-so-subtle glance.

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and not from the fire as his gaze drops to my tits and he shifts in his chair. I smirk, knowing that at least I'm not the only one affected.

"Where are you staying, Bella?" Jasper asks after he finishes a stripped down, mellow version of "It's My Life." He's actually not a bad singer.

"At an apartment behind the Mac's." Edward's soothing strumming comes to an abrupt stop, and my eyes meet his once more.

"The one Newton owns?" he grinds out, annoyance in his voice.

"Umm… Mike? Yeah. It's his, I guess." I scowl at the not so pleasant memory of our last two encounters. The guy seems like a bit of a sleezeball, but harmless… at least I think he is.

"Fuck," Edward hisses, his jaw set. "You stay the fuck away from him." He leans slightly forward, over the guitar, the tiki torch behind him highlighting the solid outline of his shoulders.

I lift a brow at the territorial yet disturbingly hot threat. "Pardon me?"

"Newton's a bit of a jerk," Emmett offers by way of explanation.

Turning in Emmett's direction, Rose nods in agreement from her perch on his lap. "Mhmm… He's a dick. Slime. Ball."

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression."

"What the fuck happened?" Edward practically growls, the sound causing the throb to increase between my legs.

"Nothing… Well…" He narrows his eyes at me. "It's nothing. I can take care of myself." Edward holds my gaze, not completely convinced, but decides not to question me further. Clearly there is a bigger story here between Edward and Mike, but I don't think now is the time to go down that particular path, although the thought of Edward fighting is irrationally sexy.

Cursing my wayward thoughts of my unhealthy attraction to a man I barely know, I try to focus on the conversation the waif Angela is currently trying to have with Alice. Honestly, she has one the most annoying, nasally voices I've ever heard. She also doesn't exactly sound like a rocket scientist as she's currently asking Alice if she can sneak her books to read from the school library, which suggests she's at the maturity level of a sixth grader.

Shaking my head and needing some air, I push up from the chair, taking another sip of the Mudslide. Of course, I have to look over to Edward at the precise moment that he rolls the toothpick and laughs at Jasper who has picked up his guitar and is trying unsuccessfully to play. And now, I'm cursing the automatic response my body seems to have to his sexy, deep laugh that teases its way down my spine.

Yes… some air is definitely needed. My eyes drift to the boathouse and dock down from the bonfire area, a path of tiki torches lighting the way like a beacon. I should be safe there… away from enticing laughs and sexy as fuck guitar playing.

_KINK_

_**Edward**_

_Let it go, Cullen. _My eyes stay fixed to her frame as she moves from the bonfire, lowering over those illegal jeans that hug every single delectable curve. I watch as the platform sandals she has no business wearing sink shakily into the darkened sand. She holds her arm out to the side as if to balance herself while she moves between the torches in the direction of the dock and boathouse.

I lean back in the Muskoka chair, watching in amusement, and listening as Jasper plucks away on the guitar.

_Just let it go. _I hear her giggle drift to me, and then watch her bend over, giving me a stellar view of her ass while she sticks the Mudslide bottle into the sand. She fumbles to unhook first one then the other sandal before gathering them in her hand and pulling the bottle out with her other, and then makes her way to the boathouse.

_You said no more one night stands. _

Ignoring my plan and my better judgment, I push off the chair, following silently behind her, the buzz of conversation around the fire fading as we move farther away.

She steps up to the cedar dock surrounding the boathouse, pushing the door open and I follow her like the stalker I am. I reach in to switch the lights on so she doesn't fall into the water. There are only two globe lights that hang from the wooden exposed ceiling, so the light is muted at best.

She looks over her shoulder at me, grinning. "I have a shadow," she says quietly, turning back to take in the ski boat that bobs gently in the water. She drops her sandals to the dock, her fingers tracing the black and vibrant red design swirled against the bow of the boat.

"Did you paint this?" she asks, looking at me almost in disbelief.

I nod, taking a step across the wooden landing to her. "I did."

"It's incredible," she murmurs, her voice all breathy, the sound landing firmly in my cock. "Charlie would love this."

I feel a spike of irritation as another man's name leaves her lips. "Who the fuck is Charlie?" My hand clenches into a fist at my side. I need to get a fucking grip.

She chuckles, shaking her head at me. "My father, idiot."

"Oh." _Genius response, yet again, Cullen. _Still, I am relieved to know Charlie is not a boyfriend. Fuck… What if she has one? That didn't even dawn on me until now. Wouldn't he be here? I scowl at the fact that I even give a shit.

"Are you always like this?" she asks, brushing past me, the scent of lingering smoke from the fire and candy drifting to me. I wonder how many of those gummy bears she has had.

"Like what, exactly?"

"Following women around you barely know into dark places, acting all…" she waves her hand in my general direction. "… you know."

I can't help the smirk that takes over. "No. I don't know."

She makes her way to the other side of the boathouse, eyeing the Jet Ski with interest. "Yeah. You do know, Edward. You're fucking sex on legs. Nearly every woman out there wants to fuck you and probably has."

I lift a brow, the wood creaking under my feet as I move slowly, following in her path, trying to gain some semblance of control, though that seems impossible at the moment. Stepping behind her as she flattens her hand over the seat of the Jet Ski, I lean forward, breathing her in, my mouth at her ear. "Not every woman."

_KINK_

_**Bella**_

Fuck…This is just not working at all. My plan to call him out has completely backfired and I'm actually turned on by the fact that his cockiness appears to know no bounds. His breath fans down my neck as I resist the temptation to turn around and launch myself at him.

_You will not fuck him on the Jet Ski… You will not fuck him on the Jet Ski._

"You've got a big Jet Ski. What else is big?" I blurt out in a moment of pure idiocy.

Right… that would be the residual effects of the Mudslides still swimming around. I make a mental note to check on what the fuck is in these things for next time.

_Next time?_

"Jesus, Bella. How much have you had to drink?" he asks, stepping beside me, his eyes lowering over my thighs, darkening slightly as I straddle the seat. Probably not the best move on my part, as now I have much needed friction pressing between my legs and he looks beyond turned on by the position I'm in.

I bite back a groan. "Just two of these. Well, this is my third, actually." I lift the offending Mudslide bottle. "And some bears."

"Bears… not beers, right?" I return his smirk. "So you're not drunk?" He's asking like he's hoping the answer is no.

I drain back the remnants of the Mudslide, holding it out to him as I consider his question, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the bottle. I try to ignore the enticing burn his touch seems to leave, shimming my way up toward the handlebars, and taking a deep breath in at the feeling as my thighs hug the seat.

Fuck, this would be fun to drive… maybe wrapped around Edward and his strong chest. My eyes fall to said chest and I can see the outline of a piercing under his black t-shirt, over his right nipple, confirming my initial suspicion.

He's pierced and I'm in so much trouble with him. But am I drunk? That was his question. "No," I finally answer us both. "Feeling good? Yes. Very good." _Probably aided by the fact I haven't eaten since this morning._

"I bet I could make you feel better," he says, his heady gaze burning to mine.

_You will not fuck him on the Jet Ski… You will not fuck him on the Jet Ski._

The only problem is, I know I'm going to.

Chapter end notes:

Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana - If you don't know this song, I'm not sure what to say. Lyrics by Kurt Cobain, Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic

It's My Life – Bon Jovi – Try to hear the acoustic version if you can. Lyrics by Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, Max Martin

Up next Monday- If the boat house is rocking...

Twitter: CarLemon


	6. Chapter 6

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Check out her latest story, now complete even though I don't want to admit that. *sniff* Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. You make my day. Truly.

Onward with chapter 6.

Come join me.

* * *

Chapter Six

_**Edward**_

"I bet I could make you feel better." And here I said no more one night stands. Who the fuck was I trying to convince?

There's just no way in hell I can resist a temptation like Bella Swan. It's impossible. So, maybe this will be the last one night stand. Just one more, right? What harm can it do? I can take her up to the house, maybe get her sweet little body into the hot tub...

"I have no doubt that you could. I think you've made a lot of people feel better in your time."

I furrow my brow at her blatant remark, but I'm also impressed by her honesty. Not many women would call me out. She's feisty, this one. I can tell. Feisty and sexy as hell. "Is that what you think?"

"Mhmm." Her gaze roams over my shirt, lingering on my chest, her tongue darting out to wet her luscious lips. There's no denying the electricity between us. And alcohol has a way of loosening things up in a good way sometimes. You're less... inhibited, though judging by her hardened nipples pressing against that all too tempting tank-top, I'm not sure Bella Swan is inhibited at all. At least I hope not.

For once, I'd enjoy a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to ask for it. Playing the coy, shy game gets old fast. We stay like that for a while, her breathing elevated as her gaze travels the length of my torso, her expressive eyes widening slightly as she takes in my obvious hard on. Some guys would try hide it. I'm not some guys. I'm not about to pretend that I'm not intrigued and massively turned on by her. Like I said - no games.

The boat creaks beside us, breaking the silence. "Curious, Naughty One?"

"Wha... what?" Her eyes snap back to mine and I can't hide my smirk.

I also can't seem to be able to stop my fingers as I gently trace up the line of blue ink on her forearm. "I know I'm curious." I lower my eyes over the rage of ink on her skin.

"You are?" Her voice is lower, almost a whisper that does nothing to tame my wayward thoughts.

"Mhmm."

"What about?"

"A whole lot of things." I roll my thumb over the lines of ink that curl around her tiny bicep. Her skin is smooth and creamy, and it's almost a shame it's been covered in ink... Almost. If the tatts were tacky or cliché, maybe it would be a turnoff, but they're vivid and intriguing and just make me want to know more about them and her.

"Such as?" I'm leaning close enough to hear her take a shaky breath as my fingers gently brush her hair behind her shoulder. She's not inked along her neck and I think I'm happy about that fact.

"Do you want an itemized list?" My voice is a murmur against her soft skin. My nose brushes the curve of her neck as I breathe her in. She smells so fucking good. A hint of syrupy sweetness, no doubt from the vodka bears, lingering with whatever the hell it is she uses as body wash. I make it my mission then and there to find out what it is. She's goddamn intoxicating. Good enough to eat. And I plan on doing just that.

"A list? Maybe?"

Leaning back slightly, I gently sweep the pad of my finger over what looks to be a tiny primitive deer that resembles something you would see painted on a wall in a cave. I feel her shiver slightly under my touch. I'd be lying if I said that didn't turn me on even more. "What's this?"

"You want to know about my tatts?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice.

"Why wouldn't I? They're fucking works of art and they look incredible on you."

"No one's ever..." Her voice trails as she shifts slightly on the Jet Ski, making it bob a little in the water. "I mean, no guy has ever asked about them before."

I shift my gaze to hold hers. "Well, maybe you haven't been with the right guy, Naughty One."

The corners of her fuckable mouth turn up ever so slightly. "Why do you call me that?"

I lift a brow. "Are we going to play that game, _Bella_." I emphasize her name. "You came into my store thinking it was a sex shop. You went to the dildo party and purchased a great deal, I'd hazard to say. You're letting me touch your tattoos, which I think mean a lot to you. Are you telling me you're not naughty?"

She shakes her head slowly at me, and my gaze follows the path of her tongue across her bottom lip. "No. I'm not telling you that. And you're right. I did purchase a few things at the party and at the shop."

"Thought so. What did you buy?"

"Maybe I don't want to say." She lifts her chin slightly as if in defiance to my question which only makes me want to see her squirm.

"_Bella_...What did my Naughty One buy, hmm?" I press my thumb in tight circles over the tatt she has yet to explain.

Her eyes widen, but she holds my gaze, not backing down. "Tasty Tease Crème and a G-swirl stimulator," she declares almost proudly.

I nod with a grin. "Mmm... That all?"

She tries to bite back a chuckle. "No. That's not all." I silently wait for her to continue, my eyes locked to hers and she shakes her head. "God, you're unbelievable," she murmurs almost as an afterthought.

"Mmm... You have no idea, Naughty One." My thumb continues the circuit on the tatt I've now committed to memory.

She leans back on the seat of the Jet Ski. "So. Show me. Show me how unbelievable you are, Edward Cullen. Show me that I'll be disappointed with my G-swirl. I think I'll name him George," she rambles, which I find equally adorable and concerning. She said she wasn't drunk and, as much as I really, really would like to show her how inadequate this second rate imitation really is, I'd prefer her to be sober and remember it.

I reluctantly lift my hand away from her inviting skin." I thought you said you weren't drunk."

She shakes her head. "I'm not. I ramble sometimes, when I'm... nervous." She lowers her eyes to the controls on the Jet Ski.

This just fucking will not do. I glide my index finger under her chin, tilting her head back up to meet my gaze. "Do I make you nervous?"

"Maybe it's not _you _exactly... It's just that I haven't... I haven't done this is in a while." There's that honesty again that draws me to her in a way that I shouldn't be given I've decided this will be a one-time occurrence. Maybe two at most. Or three potentially.

"Would you believe me if I told you neither have I?"

She lifts a brow in question, shifting slightly away from me. "You expect me to believe that? After everything I've heard?"

I narrow my eyes, unimpressed that my past behaviour is going to follow me around for who knows how long. Stupid fucking small town from hell. They never forget a damn thing. And suddenly, I'm leaning forward to close the unacceptable distance between us. "Fuck what you've heard. I'll never lie to you. That's not my style. It's been a while. That's the truth."

She nods after a beat, seemingly accepting that answer. "What's _a while_ in your world?"

"A couple of months."

"Me too," she says with a hint of a grin, leaning forward and giving me a stellar view of the swell of her breasts. "Guess you and I really aren't that different."

"Oh, Naughty One. You and are very, very different, and I thank the fucking stars for that."

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

I can honestly say, I've never had a conversation quite like this one. Certainly never on a Jet Ski and particularly not with a hot as fuck man like Edward Cullen. And I now know, he's all man, and I'm not just talking about the impressive bulge currently pressing against these jeans designed to torture me, though that alone would be enough to put him firmly into the man category.

He's uninhibited and tells it like it is. There are no games with Edward. I can see that now. I believe him when he says it's been a while. Why would he lie about that? I didn't. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't feel the need to pretend they are something they're not.

He's also looking at me like he wants to devour me, and I'll gladly let him. I don't think I've ever had anyone look at me like this. It's beyond intense and sends a delicious shiver licking down my spine, fueling an equally intense desire I haven't felt in a very long time if ever.

I'm still holding his heated gaze when I feel his thumb return to the petroglyph tatt on my upper arm. I bite back a needy groan that's threatening to escape due to the gentle sweep of his thumb, coupled with the heated trail it leaves in its wake. "It's a petroglyph," I manage to say. I'm a little surprised I'm able to speak at the moment. But, he was right about my tattoos. They do mean a lot to me. Maybe that's why I can talk about them despite his sensual touch that only makes me want more.

"A petrowhat?" His thumb stills over the ink for a moment before he resumes his teasing trail.

I grin at the sound of his voice; equally raw, raspy and curious. That I've caused him to have this reaction is a pretty massive turn on."From one of my many adventures with Charlie. There's a ton of them in these caves in Peterborough. They're Aboriginal rock carvings from hundreds of years ago."

_Way to go, Bella. Bore Mr. Sex-On-Legs with your adventures with your father._

But he seems genuinely interested, his voice low. "And you just happened to find these one day with him?" I follow his line of sight as he lazily lowers his gaze over my arm.

"Mhmm," I squeak.

"I think I'd like your dad."

"Edward?"

"Mmmm...?" His eyes meet mine once more.

"I'd rather not talk about my dad right now."

"Is that so?" He leans forward against the side of the Jet Ski. It lists to one side with his weight and I am treated once more to his intoxicating proximity. "And what would you like to talk about, hmm?"

"Nothing at all. No talking. The less the better, actually," I blather like an idiot.

I watch the path of his tongue as he slowly wets his lips. "Naughty One... I think I may just love you."

I shake my head and am unable to hide my grin. He really is just too damn tempting. "Smartass," I murmur.

That earns me a deep, sexually charged chuckle. "But you know what?"

"What?"

He skims his lips under my ear, rendering me speechless. The brain cells dying from the mudslides have got nothing on the erotic feel of his warm breath fanning my skin and the delicious burn of the scruff gracing his jaw. "Sometimes talking is really, really good."

"Jesus..."

"I wasn't exactly thinking about him, Naughty One. But whatever floats your boat... or Jet Ski as it were." I feel his tongue trace the shell of my ear and try unsuccessfully to hold back a whimper. How someone can be equally sexy and effortlessly funny is mind-boggling.

I think I hear him mutter something about tasting so sweet, but I really can't be sure, as I've lost the ability to think clearly. And then, I'm grabbing a fistful of his dark t-shirt and hauling him forward against me. My free hand curls around the back of his neck and up into the chaos of his hair as my lips finally... _finally _crash to his.

Of course, he has to have the softest lips that any man has ever had... ever. It may be the only part of him that is soft. It's not a fact I'll complain about. I feel a deep groan vibrate from his solid chest as his lips slowly, and in the most sensual way possible, move with mine.

Edward knows how to kiss. Of course he does. I try not to dwell on just how many women have had this earth-shattering experience and instead try to commit it to my memory. I can taste lingering whiskey on his tongue and a hint of smokiness from being around the bonfire all night, no doubt.

My hand tightens in his hair and I savour the feeling of being kissed by a man who knows how. It's slow and languid and just delicious, as if he's the one savouring me and not the other way around.

I feel him plant one hand on the seat between my thighs, leaning further into the kiss as his free hand glides over the curve of my neck gently to cup my cheek.

I'm a little taken aback at how gentle he actually is. I wasn't expecting it. I don't know what I was expecting. Hell, I didn't come to this party _expecting_ to make out with Edward or anyone else for that matter... did I? What the hell am I doing?

His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, tugging with a groan as his hand skims to the back of my neck and into my hair, wrapping a fistful around his wrist and pulling it firmly. The erotic move causes my lips to separate from his and I almost whimper.

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes fluttering open only to meet his darkened and almost primeval stare." Where did you just go?" he asks through a shuddered breath, his hold tightening on my hair.

"Mmmmm?" Is my response because I can't seem to form a coherent thought.

"You're thinking this is a bad idea, aren't you?"

"Fuck no!" I almost yell, causing the corner of his mouth to curl up in a way that is far too enticing.

"No regrets, Bella." His voice is more serious, the playful tone that I've come to associate with him completely gone. "If we do this, you've got to _want_ to, and you've got to do it with no regrets."

I swallow back the lump in my throat, my heart racing."No regrets?"

"It's pretty much the only rule I have."He says this as his thumb traces over my bottom lip, his darkened green eyes dropping to my mouth and lower to my heaving chest.

I release my fingers from his hair, tracing the outline of his strong jaw, and tilt his chin up so he's looking at me, mirroring his earlier move. "No regrets. None."

"Thank fuck," he murmurs, his lips crashing back to mine. This time, the kiss is more intense, urgent, as if he can't get enough of me.

My hand glides from his chin around his bicep, briefly skimming the teasing ink peeking out from his sleeve. I wonder what it is, whether it's important to him like mine are, if he's tatted up anywhere else. An involuntary groan shudders from my lips against his at that thought.

"Fuck, I want you, Naughty One," he murmurs against my lips.

Ah, so we're back to my nickname. I really should be pissed about it. It's not the most flattering of nicknames, but they way it rolls off his tongue makes it impossible for me not to like it.

His lips break from mine and glide back to my neck - a place I'm learning he likes to explore- as his raspy voice continues to drive me to the brink of sanity. "I can't wait to feel you around me."

My eyes slide shut and I roll my neck to the side, lost in the sensation, my hand sliding down the solid wall of his chest, taking a fistful of his shirt. "Would you like that, Naughty One, hmmm?"

I try unsuccessfully to bite back a groan, my fingers feeling the outline of the barbell piercing at his nipple. I can't resist, so I don't. I give it a firm tug, which results in the sexiest sound any man has ever made in my presence.

His lips still against my neck before I feel his teeth graze over the same spot. "Fuck...do that again." His voice is rough against my overly sensitive skin.

"This?" I sound all breathless and needy, and he lets out a deep groan as I gently twist the barbell through his shirt. His lips crush back to mine, the Jet Ski swaying against the dock and I wonder idly if it's going to scrape his vibrant paint job.

That wayward thought doesn't last long when I hear a distinct, "Fuck yes." He's almost hissing the words, his lips hungrily moving with mine, his fingers still gripping a handful of my hair.

I can't remember the last time someone was this responsive, this frantic with me. It makes me feel all twisted up in knots and I can't deny that I love the feeling. He makes me feel wanted in a way no man ever has. Still, I realize I need to try maintain a level head and take this for what it is. A one-time thing. One hell of a one-time thing, but that's it. That's all.

His tongue glides against mine, my hips involuntarily rolling forward as an aching need deep inside me builds. I feel his hand slide from the seat of the Jet Ski up my inner thigh, leaving a heated trail as he cups my breast, his lips dropping to skim over the swell. I'm so glad I bought this tank top today at Rose's. I wasn't thinking about the relatively easy access at the time but now...

"Fuck, your tits are amazing," he mutters, the pad of his thumb rolling over my nipple.

He tugs harder on my hair, and I arch into his touch, his fingers lowering the fabric of the top down to expose the burgundy lace bra underneath.

"Fuck me," he growls, his tongue tracing the outline of the bra, his breath warm against my already heated skin.

My breathing is already out of control and I still have all of my clothes on. I slide one hand into his crazed but soft hair, urging him forward and his fingers tug the fabric of the bra down, his tongue lazily swirling over my nipple. "You're not pierced," he mutters, almost in awe.

"No. But I could be," I breathe. I'm not sure where that comes from. I think I would say just about anything right now if he would just keep touching me.

A deep chuckle vibrates over his lips and around my nipple as he sucks it into his mouth and then between his teeth, repeating the process over and over. I'm not sure how much more I can take. I wouldn't have thought it was possible to orgasm with all my clothes on, but he may just prove me wrong. That would definitely be a first and something tells me I could experience a whole lot of firsts with Edward.

_One night only, Bella!_

I feel the delicious scruff of his jaw against me, his hand in my hair never faltering as he skims across to my other breast. His teeth tug at my hardened nipple over the fabric of the bra this time. The offending fabric in the way shouldn't feel good, but it does. _God does it ever feel fucking good. _It actually heightens every sensation he's currently providing me.

My hand falls to the seat behind me as I try to steady myself, my head falling back as I push forward against his mouth, desperate to feel more of him. I feel the heat of his palm glide over my stomach to the button on my jeans, which he releases with relative ease.

Again, the red flag waves. He's done this many times before. Right now, I don't give a shit. We are both adults and know what we want. I try to convince myself that I'm glad he's experienced and not some fumbling idiot who doesn't have a clue as to what he's doing. I've been down that unfortunate road too many times.

"Stay with me." He seems to sense that I'm over-thinking and I'm glad for that. I want to savour this and him. Live in the now like I always do.

He murmurs against the lace of my bra, and I finally open my eyes, leaning forward and getting treated to the sight of his fingers easing the fabric away from my breast, his tongue tracing over the nipple.

"Fuck that feels so good," I mutter, unable to take my eyes off the erotic image of him doing exactly what we both want.

He hums a response against my nipple, his fingers lowering the zipper on my jeans and gently brushing the lace fabric of my panties. My entire body pulses as I roll my hips to his teasing touch. His hand glides around the band of my jeans, gripping the fabric in the back, and he lifts his gaze to me.

"Lift up." It's a bit of a command and I find it sexier than I probably should. I push my hand against the seat behind me, raising my hips. With a final pass of his tongue against my breast, he leans back, his grip tightening on the back of my jeans. With a grin, he yanks them down, tugging them off and letting them drop to the darkness of the wooden dock behind him.

I can't help the giggle that escapes as I try to keep my balance on the Jet Ski that is now bobbing a little more. I feel myself slipping and lunge forward, my hands gripping the handlebars as I burst out laughing.

Edward's laugh joins mine and it's deep and sexy as hell." Oh, Naughty One. What am I going to do with you?" The corners of his mouth curl up in amusement before he drops his gaze over me, his expression turning dark once more. He takes his time, practically drinking me in, wetting his lips and slowly sliding his fingers over the belt on his jeans, releasing the buckle and letting it hang open.

My laughter fades with his and my grip tightens on the handlebars as I straddle the seat, pressing my legs together in an attempt to quell the ache between my legs. My mouth goes dry, and I can't seem to look away from the prominent bulge practically begging to break free from his jeans.

I watch as he gradually releases each button on his fly, and then moves down the dock and out of my line of sight. Still gripping the handlebars for dear life, I am confused as to why he's moved away and into the darker part of the boathouse. I was enjoying that show and could have watched for quite a long time, thank you very much. But my annoyance is short lived, and my mouth drops open as I see the outline of him kicking his jeans to the side and stepping out of his boxers.

I can't help the groan that escapes as he moves back into the light. I greedily peruse his long, lean legs as he slowly moves back to me his palm gripping his length, stroking slowly while he approaches the Jet Ski.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, my eyes widening as he stops just behind me, gliding his thumb over his wide tip before palming back down his shaft. A quiet, "Fuck," falls from my lips as I strain my neck trying to get a better look.

He holds my gaze, tearing open the foil packet and letting it drop to the deck, rolling the condom over his hardened length. It's one of the hottest things I've ever seen; his strong hand moving over his shaft, his deep green eyes locked firmly to mine.

And then, he's straddling the seat behind me and the Jet Ski dips slightly in the water under his weight. He leans his torso to my back, and I can feel his hardened cock pressing against me, every nerve ending in my body sparking to the sensation.

I lift my hips, trying to rock back against him as my heart hammers. He gently brushes my hair from my neck, his lips skimming under my ear, igniting the fire that is threatening to burn out of control. He skims one hand around my stomach, lowering his fingers down and into the front of my panties.

I press back to his firm chest with a groan, letting my head fall against his shoulder as his fingers tease over my throbbing clit, making me wet with want.

"I know exactly what I'm going to do with you, Naughty One." My eyes slide shut as his smooth voice whispers in my ear, his warm breath driving me completely crazy. "I'm going to fuck you. Right here. Right now."

* * *

Chapter End Notes.

Peterborough Petroglyphs: If you ever have a chance to see petroglyphs, do it. Fantastic works of art. park/petroglyphs

Up next Monday: If the boathouse is rockin'... You know the rest.

Twitter: CarLemon


	7. Chapter 7

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Check out her latest story, now complete even though I don't want to admit that. *sniff* Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. You make my day. Truly.

Onward with chapter 7.

Come join me.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**Edward**_

"I'm going to fuck you. Right here. Right now." I'm trying to maintain some sort of control, but it's extremely fucking difficult. I feel her perfect ass grind back against me as the rough pad of my thumb teases over her swollen clit. That results in that little needy groan from her which only fuels the burning ache of my cock.

I'm hanging on by a goddamn thread and I need to check myself before I rip these sexy as fuck lace panties off her and this is over faster than it began. _That's why you're in here, genius_. Fuck, I want this to last, but the feel of her smooth, bare skin under my fingers is almost too much to take.

She leans back against my chest, her sweet, warm breath fanning against my face as I slip my free hand under her tank top, brushing my fingers over her exposed nipple. Fuck, her tits are beyond amazing; perfectly soft and tempting as hell. I need to spend more time getting to know them better.

My lips falter against her neck at that thought. It's supposed to be o_ne night only, remember? _I try to focus on the now, on the feel of her tight body grinding back against mine, on the sexy little sounds she's making, on the way her breast fits perfectly in my hand. I try to push back any thoughts of getting to know her or her tits better. I try, but fuck it's really, really hard to imagine I'll only get to feel her like this tonight.

Thankfully, her lips graze my neck, bringing an abrupt, but much needed end to my wandering thoughts. "Rip them off," she whispers under my ear.

"Fuck, Naughty One." My voice sounds rough and edgy. I can't remember the last time a woman has had me this worked up. My hips shift forward on the seat of the Jet Ski, making it bob in the water as I tug her panties to one side and slide my fingers into her. "You're so fucking wet," I mumble against her neck, dragging my teeth over her shoulder.

She lets out a sexy little gasp and then releases one hand from the death grip she had on the handlebar. Her hand flies back and dives into my hair, tugging forward as I stroke my fingers slowly, feeling her shudder with each movement. "You like that, Naughty One, hmm?" She answers with a launch of her lips to mine, and we both groan into the heated kiss. It's demanding and wild, and I can't get enough of the way she tastes or the erotic feel of her tongue as she traces the outline of my lips.

She rolls her hips to the pace of my fingers, the swell of her sweet ass rocking against my cock until I can't take it anymore. With a final press of my thumb over her sensitive clit I ease my fingers from her, grip the lace of her panties, and tear them down one side and then the other.

The sound kind of echoes off the cedar walls of the boathouse and I feel her bite down against my lip, lifting her hips at the same time, allowing me to tug the torn fabric from her. I let it fall, I have no fucking idea where it goes. It may be in the water for all I know. The only thing that matters right now is the feel of her lifting higher off the seat, and my hand curling around the smooth skin of her hip as I guide her over my throbbing length. She's tight, warm, slick and stretching perfectly around me. It's been way too long since I've had sex and it sure as fuck wasn't like this.

Her lips falter against mine as she lowers over me, letting out a shaky breath. "Jesus, you feel so good," she mutters as if it's a revelation or something.

"That's the general idea, Naughty One." She lets out a whispered groan, leaning back into me, stilling her hips when I'm fully sheathed inside her. We stay like that - perfectly still, save for my thumb that continues to roll against her nipple, and fuck if it isn't the best goddamn feeling I've had in a very long time. We're right here, in that fucking intense place between not nearly enough and too much. I can hear every single ragged breath she takes. I can feel her muscles shuddering, fighting against the overwhelming need that has been building between us.

"Jesus, Naughty One... You're going to feel this tomorrow." She lets out a stuttered breath, rolling her hips and raising up before slamming back down, causing the side of the Jet Ski to scrape forcefully against the dock.

A string of curses release loudly from her lips and she finally frees her grip on my hair, her palm falling back to the handlebars. Her head drops forward as she raises and lowers herself over me again and again, keeping pace with each punch of my hips. "Shit... I shouldn't be so loud," she murmurs.

"Be as fucking loud as you want," I grind out. My fingers tighten around her hip, feeling my muscles coil as I guide her faster over me, hearing Emmett's distinctive laugh drift into the boathouse from somewhere outside. I know she hears it too and it only fuels the intensity between us. "How does that feel, Naughty One? Knowing someone could just walk in here and see me fucking you?"

She lets out a mumbled, "Fuck," her hair falling in front of her face which just won't do at all. My hand that was teasing her breast slips down her stomach and out from under her tank top. I twist a handful of her dark and now tousled hair, tugging her head back as my hips drive forward.

For a second I wish I had a full-length mirror so I could watch her riding me, and that her shirt was off to see her perfect tits bounce to the rhythm. Maybe next time.

Her fingers are white-knuckled on the handlebars and I graze my teeth over her neck, tasting the sweetness of her skin as I pull her down roughly with each thrust of my hips.

My feet plant against the footrests of the Jet Ski, feeling her tight body squeeze around me. My heart pounds harder as I try to hold onto this insane feeling. It's hot and electric, and with each grind of her hips, I only want more... More of this and more of her and that scares the living hell out of me.

_**KINK**_

_**Bella**_

I've done one night stands before. Hell, I've done a lot of things before, but this... this is something else entirely. He's driving me fucking crazy with his raspy voice, whispering in my ear and his touch that is taking me to places you only read about in those really awful romance novels. It's like he knows my body already. He knows exactly how to touch me- where and when - and with each erotic sweep of his thumb and thrust of his hips, I'm slowly losing the ability to keep a level head.

In an attempt to try to regain some control, I quicken the pace, clenching around his throbbing length. He's right when he said I'm going to feel this tomorrow. His cock is heavy, thick and just fucking perfect, and I can feel the muscles in his thighs flexing as he drives forward to meet the pace I seem to be demanding.

My hands grip harder around the handlebars to the point where I'm afraid I'm going to do permanent damage to either my hands or the bars, but right now, I don't really give a shit. His mouth seems to be everywhere in the most delicious of ways, brushing under my ear, against my exposed shoulder, sweeping over my lips. It's like he's trying to consume me and I want him to.

He releases his grasp on my hair, a groan vibrating through his chest, his hand skimming along my side and to my hip where his hold is almost punishing. I let my head fall back further, the ends of my hair grazing his torso, swaying with the rocking rhythm of the Jet Ski.

_You said you wouldn't fuck him on the Jet Ski. _So much for that idea.

"Just like that, Naughty One, fuck you feel so…" The rest of his sentence comes out in a jumbled groan and I feel him raise his hips up, the new angle sending me soaring. He bites down on my shoulder and slides one hand tightly back around my breast, palming and teasing and pulling me back flush against his firm chest.

"Fucking get there," he grinds out against my neck, his warm breath sending a contrasting shiver through me.

Christ... He has no idea how _there_ I am. I open my eyes and catch the shadow of us rocking together highlighted against the aged wooden walls of the boathouse. I vaguely hear another round of laughter float to us and it triggers something deep inside me. This is absolutely insane. Anyone could walk in and see us. Is that why this feels so intense?

"Please..." It doesn't sound like my voice at all.

"I like you begging, Naughty One." Damn him with his ragged-dirty-talking voice that sparks every single nerve ending in my body.

His hand drifts from my hip, the thick pad of his thumb moving in tight circles over my clit and I'm utterly lost. "Bring your hand down here. Show me how you like it." His voice is strained and tight, his deep strokes never faltering despite the fact that I know he's on the edge.

There is no hesitation when my hand drops from the bar, my fingers falling into the spaces between his and I guide him faster. The Jet Ski dips and rocks, bouncing off the dock, his voice a growl under my ear. "You like that, hmm? Fuck you feel so good. Feel it, Naughty One. Feel all of me."

His mouth stills over my shoulder, our fingers circling and teasing together, pushing me higher. His hips buck forward, his length hard, slick and pulsing, until I can take no more and I fall to pieces around him, crashing over and over, my voice louder than I know it should be.

I feel his teeth graze my neck, his hand at my breast tightening, his hips twisting roughly. And then, I feel him shudder, his length swelling with his release. "Holy fuck, Naughty One," he murmurs, his tongue sweeping over what I assume is now a red mark on my neck. I can feel the stubble on his jaw brush over my skin, his breaths wonderfully uneven.

His muscles shake and he leans heavily against my back, his fingers continuing their teasing assault over my sensitive clit as his hips still. I sink back against him, utterly spent, the muscles in my thighs complaining as the Jet Ski slows to a gradual sway. Yeah, I'm going to feel this tomorrow alright. In more places than he thinks.

A stuttered silence stretches between us, interrupted only by an occasional shaky breath, the creak of the dock and the intermittent hollers from the bonfire. God, I hate this part. It doesn't have to be awkward does it? _Oh no. Not at all. You've just fucked this sexy as hell man who you've only just met on a Jet Ski and now have to get out of here somehow. No. Not awkward at all._

"Mmm..." He gently glides his hand from my heated skin, smoothing his palm over my thigh. His touch is gentle, sensual and in complete contrast with the raw and carnal intensity I've just had the luxury of experiencing.

I turn my head to look at him, his eyes closed, his jaw slack. He looks... sated... content and I'm not sure why, but it disturbs me. I lift my fingers from my clit and trace the outline of his lips. His eyes snap open and he meets my gaze. He lifts a brow and sucks my fingers into his mouth with a deep, rough groan.

"I can't wait to taste your pussy."

I feel the heat rise in my face. I don't know why this comment has made me shy all of a sudden after everything we've just done. I turn my face into his neck and chuckle against the warmth of his skin.

"That assumes this is going to happen again," I mumble, trying not to breathe him in. I'm afraid if I do, he's going to be permanently part of me.

I feel him stiffen against my back, lifting me slightly and shifting back on the seat of the Jet Ski. Both of my hands grip the bars once more but I don't want to move. I don't like the feel of him easing away from me and I have to bite back a groan at the loss. My legs feels shaky and numb and I'm afraid I won't be able to walk. I feel thoroughly fucked in the best way possible.

I peek behind me and see him unroll the condom, his cock heavy in his hand which only serves to make hotter than I already am. I turn back to try to pull myself together as he deals with disposing the condom in whatever way he does. No regrets... he said...

"No regrets, Naughty One. Remember that. My rule."

His voice is calm and soothing and right now I'm thankful that at least one of us is able to keep things real. I turn to lift my gaze to his. "None at all. That was..." I'm at a loss for words for what that was. There's a first- me without a thing a say.

"I know, Naughty One. I know." His mouth quirks up in that way that makes my insides melt. He quickly slides from the Jet Ski to the dock, moving out of the light and into the darkness once more. I can hear the rustle of fabric and the telltale click of a belt as I try to gather my wits and calm my racing heart.

Where the fuck are my underwear? I twist to search behind me, seeing nothing but the back of the Jet Ski and the blackness of the water. Fucking hell. I really liked those ones.

"I think they're gone." He sounds amused and I look up to him, a little taken aback at his outstretched hand. _He wants to pretend he's a gentleman now?_ I try to hold back a snort, but it's impossible. I slide my hand into his. It's warm and seems huge as he squeezes mine, pulling me off the seat and onto the dock. My legs wobble beneath me and I plant my free hand on his bicep to keep from falling over.

"Whoa. You okay there?" He slides his arm around my waist, taking my breath away in the process.

"Yeah. I'd say I'm very okay." I can feel the adrenaline still firing through me, my body on hyper alert to his presence as I stand here, practically boneless, naked from the waist down with my bra twisted around in ways it should never be.

He seems to be enjoying it all a little too much. His smirk clearly in place, his gaze never leaving mine. "Um... my jeans? I can't very well stroll out of here without them."

"Hmm... That would be something to see." He says this as his thumb brushes the back of my hand, slowly trailing up my arm, stilling over the unfinished tattoo that Charlie started before I left. "What's this one going be?" I watch as he slowly traces the lines of ink, leaving a heated trail in the process.

I blink away from my arm, glancing back up to his darkened gaze. "A trillium." His brow furrows. "Official flower of Ontario. We found a whole whack of them in this field in the middle of nowhere one day," I ramble on, shrugging my shoulders. "They're pretty."

He wets his bottom lip, nodding slowly. "I'd say they're more than pretty." His voice is all low and full of promise and I suddenly need to get the hell out of here.

I break from his gaze, my eyes falling to my jeans that lay haphazardly against the dock behind him. I take a step to the side, hoping to hell that my shaky legs don't betray me and I end up on my ass, sprawled on the dock. That would be mortifying.

Thankfully, I make my way over without embarrassing myself further. I bend to pick my jeans up and start to tug them on, aware of the strength of his gaze on me. _This is easy, Bella. One leg in... then the other..._ No big deal and commando it is thanks to my in-the-moment request that he tear away a pair of my favourite panties. Brilliant move there.

With trembling fingers, I lift the zipper and turn to meet his steady smirk. He's clearly enjoying the mini show and isn't afraid to be caught staring. He really is too fucking tempting and looking hotter than hell standing there under the muted light, hair all dishevelled, eyes raking over me.

"So..." I motion to the door. "Should I go out there first? I mean how does this work?" I run my hand through my hair in an attempt to tame the tangled mess I'm sure it's become.

He shakes his head. "I resent that remark. I've never done this before." I lift a brow and he chuckles. "I mean in here," he wisely clarifies.

"Never?"

He closes the distance between us, his fingers gliding under my hanging bra strap. He gently moves the material back into place over my shoulder. My skin tingles from his touch. I think I'll be feeling it for a very long time. "No, Naughty One. You're definitely a first."

"Well. that's something, I guess." I work to try to fix the bra as best I can, hoping to hell that he hasn't left any obvious marks on my skin that anyone is going to notice.

"Mmm..." He skims his fingers away from my shoulder, shoving his hand into the front pocket of his jeans like he can't trust himself to touch me or something. "Why don't you go out to the bonfire. I'll wait a few minutes and slip back up to the house. They're all half in the bag anyway. They'll never even notice."

"Okay. Well..." I start, shifting away from him, moving backwards down the dock as he stays where he is, his eyes locked to me. "Thanks for the sex."

His resounding chuckle fills the boathouse. "Believe me. The pleasure was all mine, Naughty One."

"Not _all _yours." His grin widens and he strides down the dock, bending to pick up my sandals. He dangles them off his long fingers in front of me.

"Don't forget these."

I lift them from his fingers, happy to hang onto something that will prevent me from launching myself back at him and going another round... Maybe in the boat. Hmm..._Focus!_ "Right. I need these."

He nods and steps to the side, back into the darkened corner of the boathouse without another word. I push open the door, which of course creaks louder than any sound ever made in history. I chance a peek out and see that he's right. Varying degrees of drunkenness can clearly been seen around the bonfire down the beach. I think I hear Alice's voice squealing and I'm pretty sure that's Jasper carrying her over his shoulder and into the shallow waves.

He said they'll never notice. So why do I feel like I have a neon sign flashing over my head that screams _Edward's Naughty One_?

_**KINK**_

_**Edward**_

It's amazing how easy it is for me to forget the chords to _Lost Together_; a song I could usually play in my sleep. But as Jasper starts to sing, my eyes stay fixed on my Naughty One across the flames of the bonfire. All I can think about is the way it felt when my cock moved inside her, how I need to feel it again and soon. Yes, I'm well aware I've just referred to her as _my _Naughty One and I realize how messed up that is. She's not _my_ anything. But fuck, the things I want to do to this woman...

_Strange and beautiful are the stars tonight_

_That dance around your head_

My fingers slip from the strings of the guitar and Jasper shakes his head. "Jesus, man."

"Sorry, J. I guess I'm a little tired."

Naughty One practically jumps to her feet. "Yeah, it's getting late. I should be getting back," she says a little too quickly for my liking. Alice leaps up to give her a hug, nattering on about the fair and Jasper's race this weekend as she starts to lead her away from the bonfire.

I shove my guitar into Jasper's lap, tossing my toothpick to the sand and push up from the chair. "I'll walk you out."

Thankfully it's only Rose and Emmett who are otherwise engaged, laying on the beach and looking up at the stars, oblivious to anything but the buzz they currently have going on, and Jasper and Alice left. I called cabs for the rest of the crew or at least made sure people were sober before they took off. I'm glad they're all gone and I don't have to deal with the bullshit of another drunken scene like the one she walked into when she got here.

Alice skips back to the fire and I fall in step beside Naughty One. She's quiet as we move back up to the house, stopping when we reach the driveway. She balances on one leg, slipping her sandal on, supporting herself against the hood of my Nova. Fuck what I wouldn't do to see her spread out over it.

"You don't have to walk me out, Casanova," she says, grinning as she buckles the sandal and proceeds to switch legs to put the other one on.

I run my hand through my hair as she fixes the strap around her ankle. "I thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?" She pushes off the Nova, glancing up at me. "No regrets, right? That's _your _rule. Don't go breaking it on me."

I nod and move with her down the darkened road, hearing the crickets chirp away. "I won't break it. Is this your car?" My eyes widen at the Trans Am she stops beside, my fingers tracing over the classic design on the hood. It looks a little worse for the wear. Dad could restore it in a heartbeat. That would mean spending more time with her which would mean...

"Yep. This is my baby."

"It's fucking awesome."

She laughs and opens the door, leaning against it. "Yeah, well, I'm afraid it may be on its last legs."

"Emmett can fix it," I blurt out, moving to join her at the door. She's clearly amused as she grins up at me. "I mean, if you're having trouble with it or whatever."

"I think the trip from Ottawa took a toll. It's fine for now, but I'll let you know if something changes," she says, slipping in behind the wheel. I watch as she rolls the window down, shoving the keys into the ignition.

"Give me your phone."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. I lean against the open window, close enough to touch her, to smell her, to kiss her.

"Give me your phone. You'll need my number if you know...something changes."

She grins and reaches into the glove box, pulling out her iPhone and unlocking it, holding it up to me. I take it from her, my fingers brushing hers before she drops her hand to the steering wheel. She grips the wheel tightly, her eyes forward, not even looking at me.

I add my name under _Casanova_ and make a call to my number before lowering the phone back to her.

She takes the phone and tosses it to the passenger seat. It takes a few cranks of the key, but finally the engine roaring to life with a growl. I furrow my brow. I'm not sure she should be driving this fucking classic car. It sounds like it's one drive away from dying on her.

"Call me when you get home."

She finally meets my gaze and rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine. It made it this far, it can surely make it into the metropolis of Selkirk."

I chuckle which earns me a genuine smile. "Just call me. Please? I'll worry."

"You don't have to worry," she says, looking annoyed.

"I know I don't _have_ to. But I will."

Her grip tightens around the wheel, sending my mind back to the boathouse and how she held onto those handlebars for dear fucking life. "Are you always such a pain in the ass?" she asks, leaning back against the headrest.

"Are you always so fucking stubborn?"

"Yes." She grins at me and then shifts the car into first gear.

"Hey. You never did tell me if I passed your challenge."

"Challenge?" Her voice sounds higher and she her brow creased in confusion.

"You know...You said to show you that you'd be disappointed with your G...whatever it was."

Her fuckable mouth drops open. "Unbeliev..." Her voice trails off and then she gets a devilish gleam in her eyes. "Well, I don't know about the G-stimulator yet, but I know you're better than Jake."

She steps on the gas, the tires on the Trans Am spinning as she takes off and the gravel shoots up at my legs. I stare at the retreating brake lights while the car rounds the corner away from my house. Every muscle in my body tenses and something extremely foreign and disturbing rages through me.

I'm unable to contain my anger and I shout after her as the car disappears from my view, "Hey! Who the fuck is Jake?"

* * *

Chapter end notes:

Thoughts?

Lost Together - Magical song by the iconic Canadian Band Blue Rodeo - Lyrics by Greg Keelor and Jim Cuddy

Next Monday - A phone call and the morning after. Sounds innocent enough, right?

Are you heading to the Twific Meet Up in Nashville July 11-13? If you are, see you there! If not, we'll post pics and raise a glass to you.

Twitter: CarLemon


	8. Chapter 8

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Go, run and read her latest completed story, Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. You make my day. Truly you do.

Onward with chapter 8

Come join me.

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Bella**_

Okay. I admit it. That was a rather gutless move. I panicked. Freaked out even. Maybe overreacted just a tad. But, seeing the look of shock on his face followed by the shadowed outline of his tall, lean form in the rearview mirror as I peel away from the side of the road was worth it... I think. I hope. Fuck, I don't know what I want.

No. That's a lie too, I know exactly what I want. I just don't want to admit it to myself. I push the Trans Am through the back roads, creating some much-needed distance between me and my Casanova. I can still taste him, and I sure as fuck can still feel him.

I'm hyperaware of every single sensation that is still firing in my body. The fact that I'm pantyless is only amplifying this fact. Somewhere on an unknown stretch of shoreline someday soon, an innocent person is going to be happily strolling along and find my torn up, expensive panties and wonder about the story behind them. Well, I don't have to wonder. I got to live that story, and it was one of the most erotic, crazy, wanton stories I've ever had.

I zip past darkened fields, and the warm British voice that usually soothes me is only serving to key me up further. Damn men with their voices all raspy and sexy as I know I'm not talking about dear Roger Moore anymore.

Imagine if _he_ voiced the GPS? All raw, needy and hitting in places that his words shouldn't.

_You have arrived at your destination, Naughty One. I can't wait to be inside you._

As I enter the metropolis of Selkirk, I'm flooded with flashes of the night. His hand curling around my hip, the way he looked at me across the dancing flames of the bonfire, his long and skilled fingers strumming the guitar. Fuck, I'm in so much trouble with him. I know I want to see him again. As much as I can try to convince myself this was a one night stand, somewhere deep down in places I don't want to explore right now, I want more than that.

I park outside my apartment building beside the _Creamy Dream_, my hands still gripping the wheel. There. I admitted it. Here in the dimly lit lot of a rather sketchy building with the Mac's convenience store sign buzzing away. I can admit that I like him much more than I should.

And now I'm annoyed at myself. I collect the GPS system and my phone, tugging my purse out from under the seat. I lock up the car and head inside, stomping up the stairs just because I can.I'm not sure why I'm annoyed. I just had some of the best sex in my life. Top five for sure.

I fumble with the key in the lock, finally pushing the door open. Maybe top three. I slip inside and shut the door, the sound echoing through my empty 's a harsh reminder that I am very much alone here.

I lean against back against the door, unable to push what happened tonight out of my mind. Itwas higher than the top three... Maybe the top...Maybe. I close my eyes, my fingers tracing over my lips. I can still hear the delicious need in his voice. I can still smell him. I'm not sure any distance I put between us will make it so I can't.

Tossing my purse to the side table at the door with the GPS, I move to the kitchen and welcome the cool air that drifts to me from the bedroom. At least the air conditioner is working. Seems Felix knows what he's doing after all.

I pull open the fridge and reach in for a diet Pepsi. _Yes. Syrupy black pop and caffeine will help wash him away._

I pop the can open and take a long sip, stilling my lips as I hear my iPhone buzz. I narrow my eyes in the direction of my purse, the glowing display beckoning and taunting me. I know it's him. Somehow, I just know it's him.

And because I'm apparently into torture, I let it ring and ring and ring until it's silent. I lean against the counter finishing the drink, my eyes glued to my purse while I battle between wanting it to ring again and not. Do I really want to go down this road? I know without question that it will be one wild and extremely entertaining ride. But the thing about those types of rides is, when they're over, you're often left with an empty feeling and a rolling stomach. You try and try to get that same buzz again; to feel the adrenaline, the rush, the excitement. But, no matter how hard you try, inevitably you're disappointed.

I attempt to shake off my wandering thoughts. This isn't like me. I live in the now, and damn did I ever live tonight. I decide to appreciate it for what it is. A fucking fantastic night with no regrets.

Even as I think those words while I cross the room and take my purse into the bedroom, it's his voice I hear. "No regrets, Naughty One."

It's going to be easier said than done.

_**KINK**_

I'm interrupted from the start of what could have been an extremely erotic dream by the endless buzz of my phone on the nightstand. Of course it has to ring after I fought with the pillow and my overactive mind for who knows how long. Toss, turn, toss, turn, repeat eight thousand times. Sleep was elusive tonight, and just as I'm getting some it's disturbed.

Blindly reaching over for my glasses, I manage to find them and shove them on my face, blinking awake. I glance at the phone, but I don't really need to. It's three a.m., and someone must be lonely.

_Casanova _flashes across the display, and I can't help the grin that breaks across my face. I swipe my thumb over the little arrow-thanks for that, iPhone designers- and take a shaky breath in.

"Booty call so soon?" Even through my sleep-laden voice, he must hear the sarcasm.

I can practically see his smirk on the other end of the line, his answering chuckle landing firmly between my thighs, intensifying the ache that hasn't gone away. "Naughty One, I thought you said you were going to call me when you got home."

I'm instantly warmer hearing his sexy voice despite the fact that I shouldn't be. Hell, I shouldn't have answered the phone, but here I am. "I never said that. You barked an order at me. I didn't tell you I would call."

"I was worried." Three little words and I'm done. Something I can't let him know.

"You should be worried about the fact that you're calling me in the middle of the night. There are consequences to that, you know. I need my beauty sleep."

He chuckles deep and low. "You're fucking gorgeous, Naughty One. You don't need more beauty sleep."

I'm not sure what to say to that, and the silence stretches between us. I can hear him on the other end of the phone. He breathes... I breathe. He waits... I wait. This is ridiculous. We're like teenagers back in high school who are all awkward and shy all of a sudden.

"Well, now that you know I'm not lying in a ditch somewhere, I'm going back to bed," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"Wait. Talk to me. I can't sleep."

I let out a little chuckle. "That makes one of us."

"Tell me about your Passion Party purchase. Did you try it tonight when you got home?"

My heart starts to race, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

"Hello? Did I lose you?"

"You never quit, do you?"

It's his turn to chuckle, and I close my eyes, letting the sound seep into me. "I'm just curious," he admits.

"Yes. You mentioned something about that earlier."

"Aren't you?" he teases.

"Aren't I what?"

"Curious."

"Not at this hour."_That's right, Bella. Try to keep a level head. Be the responsible one._

"Oh, come on. Any hour is a good hour for curiosity."There's a decidedly suggestive edge to his voice that is beyond tempting. I have a feeling that if I let myself, I could get very lost in this man. I may be already.

"Even if I was curious, why do you think I'd share that with you?"

"Because you want to."

I push up to lean against the headboard. He's so full of himself, and yet I can't seem to find the words to tell him because he's also right. "I don't... That's not - "

"Mhmm... It's okay to admit it. Now, put your phone on speaker and try out your purchase."

I feel the heat rise in my face. "Just... Wait, do you always do this?"

"Do what exactly?"

"Make calls in the middle of the night to women you've just... You know..."

His answering chuckle causes a delicious shudder to roll through me."No. When I'm done with them, I'm done."

I lift a brow at his blatant answer. "But you're not done with me?"

"I'm not even close to being done. There's something about you, Naughty One."

"You mean there's something about me and a certain Jet Ski."

"I'll never look at it the same way again, that's for sure. You've fucking wrecked me."

My cheeks hurt from grinning so much. It's not a conversation I was expecting to have in the middle of the night. Though, with Edward, I think expectations are something I shouldn't have at all."And yet here you are, calling me up."

"Mmm... Couldn't sleep."

"So you said. Please tell me you're in your room alone and that other people aren't listening in." My words come out as a whisper, like I'm trying to keep what I know we're about do a secret.

"I can't tell you that."

"Then this isn't happening."

"What I mean is, I'm alone but I'm not in my room."

My brow furrows, imaging where the hell he is. Shit! Is he here? I pull the quilt up higher, clutching it at my chest. "Where are you?"

I hear a splash of water. "Hot tub."

"You're in a hot tub at this time of night?"I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed that he's not sitting outside in his car in the lot. Still, I have to admit the visual I have of him relaxing against the back of a hot tub, drinking whiskey and looking up to the night sky, is extremely hot.

"It's the best time to be here. Naked and under the stars. You should join me."

"Tempting."_Very tempting. You will not go back there! _At least not now.

"But no?"

"No. Although I would get to see your I'm curious about. What is it?"

He pauses for a moment before answering. "Is this your idea of foreplay? Tattoo questions?"

"I'm always interested in why people get inked. Please tell me it isn't some cheesy tribal arm band."

"It's a crest," he answers with a laugh.

"A crest?"

"A family crest."

"What is this, the 1800's?"

"No, but it's from around that time."

"Tell me about it."

"Get naked and I will."

I narrow my eyes at his suggestion even as my fingers toy with the hem of the t-shirt I'm wearing. I know I'm going to do this. Despite my attempt to stall and make him think I'm not. "So damn bossy."

He chuckles and I can hear him moving around in the water. "I've got all night. I'm a very patient man."

I snort a little too loudly. "I'd hardly use that as a description for you." I set the phone down on the bed and lean up, whipping my t-shirt over my head. I let it drop to the floor, the cool air drifting over my now naked body.

Anticipation courses through me as I pick the phone back up. "Okay. Family crest? Start talking. I'm naked."

"Mmm... Music to my ears, Naughty One." I shake my head at how brazen he is, but I also can't deny they way it makes me feel - wanton and wanted.

"My great, great, great grandfather came over from Scotland back in the early 1800's with literally nothing but a ratty old suitcase and some knowledge on farming. He landed in Newfoundland, married some local, hot Canadian, and had a million kids who scattered around the country. The crest is from his side of the family. It's old."

I pause as this sinks in, my mouth going dry."Scotland as in castles, whiskey, and um... kilts?" My voice raises a bit.

"Well, I have been known to wear one on occasion."

This piece of information throws me for a loop. Not in a million years would I have thought Edward cared about his heritage and a _kilt_? "Holy fuck."It's all I can manage to say about this revelation and he's clearly amused.

"You like that idea?" he asks through a chuckle.

"More than I should."

"Don't get too excited. It's not like I wear it every day. Fuck, I think the last time was at Gramps' funeral which seems like a lifetime ago." His voice trails off for a moment as I get another visual, this one of Edward in Doc Martens, a black t-shirt, a kilt and nothing underneath. I'm a million degrees hotter than I was despite the working air condition that hums away dutifully beside me."But for you, Naughty One, maybe I'll surprise you one day. It's your turn."

I push my hair back, closing my eyes to the intoxicating sound of his voice. "I'm only doing this if you do the same."

"I seem to have misplaced my G-stimulator," he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice.

"Ass."

"Mmm... We'll get to that." Silence greets me, and then I hear the water sloshing around again. "You're on speaker."

"And you're naked?"

"As the day I was born. Still with me?"

His question hangs in the air. He's leaving it all up to me and there is something very liberating about the way this feels. I've always been a pretty open person, often times taking the lead in the sexual department with my past boyfriends. Even so, it seems like a very daunting task to select the speaker on the display. I'm crossing a line, indulging him and me. It's invigorating and scary as hell. Sure, I've done dirty talk on the phone before, but it didn't involve toys and a voice that alone can reduce me to a boneless pile of raging hormones.

With shaking hands, I set the phone beside me on the bed and switch the light on, finding the neon pink bag with my expensive purchases from last night. In a scramble, the bag hits the floor, and I hear the echo of his deep laugh.

"Do you want me to come over there and help?"

"Fuck... Give me a minute."

I descend to the floor, collecting the crème and the G-swirl before climbing back into bed. Faintly, I hear him start to hum. It only takes a few seconds before I recognize the unmistakeable _Jeopardy_ theme. "God you're an ass."

He chuckles. "Want me to hang up?"

"I've come this far."

"Mmm... About to again. What do you wear to bed incidentally?"

I settle back into the bed. "Tonight, I had a University of Ottawa t-shirt on."

"That's it?"

"Yes, well, someone destroyed my panties earlier." I grin at the phone, the weight of the toy heavy in my hand.

"Yes, well, s_omeone_ asked me to."

"Point taken."

"Turn it on." I squirm despite trying not to, swallowing so loudly, he can probably hear. His voice is like sin, making me unbelievably wet and desperate.

I apply some of the crème to the tip of the G-swirl and turn it on.

"Tell me about it."

"Well, it's purple and has ten different vibration levels. It's pretty quiet." I go for the clinical, generic description.

"But you won't be."So much for clinical. He knows exactly what to say to me.

"Probably not, but you know that already."

"I like that you're not. Spread your legs."

I brush my fingers over my inner thigh, remembering how the pads of his fingers felt against my skin. I'm already on the edge, and his low, sensual voice is only heightening the feeling that's burning through me.

"Do you remember how I touched you tonight?"

"Fuck, yes." My voice is all strangled. I feel like I'm already floating.

"How did it feel?"

"Amazing."

" That's what every man likes to hear. Fuck, I want you, Naughty One."

My muscles tense at the growl in his voice and I glide the G-swirl over my sensitive skin. I bite back a groan, my back arching from the bed.

"Let me hear you."

"Oh fuck." I moan, slowly pressing the toy against my swollen clit and changing the vibration level.

"That's right. Tell me how it feels."

"It's so good."I'm a panting, needy mess, the effect of the G-swirl coupled with his voice is too much for me to take.

"You can do better than that."I'm trying to focus on his voice and not lose myself in it. It's impossible. I'm already too worked up, and this just isn't going to last.

"Remember how it felt? My fingers, my cock. How you rode me. You're fucking perfect, you know that?" His voice is gritty and tense, and my mind flies back to how his hand looked as he stroked his length in the dim light of the boathouse.

"Jesus..." My skin is on fire as I feel a shudder start to build from somewhere deep inside.

"Tell me you're wet."

"So wet."

"I can't wait to taste you. You gave me a tease tonight with your fingers...Remember?"

"Mmm..."

My thighs tremble and I alter the angle of the toy,my eyes clenched shut as I imagine his tongue on me, my hand gripping the short strands of his messy hair, pressing him forward where I need him most.

"I'm so goddamn hard. I need to be inside you again." I can feel the building ache intensify, and I hear the faint slosh of water drifting from the phone.

"Edward..."

"That's right. Say my name. Pretend it's me... my tongue, my fingers."

"It _is_ you." My heart races faster, my free hand sliding up to cup my breast, teasing my fingers over my hardened nipple.

"Fucking get there with me." He's out of breath, his voice strained and raw, causing my muscles to tense further. And then, I'm shattering, melting and crashing over and over. I hear a deep groan from the phone beside me, and I slide the toy over my swollen clit, sparking another powerful wave to roll through me.

A string of loud curses fills the room, and I'm glad that the air conditioner is there to muffle the noise. The walls are thin, and I didn't realize how loud I really am. I toss the toy to the side, slowly sinking back to the mattress completely and utterly spent. He said I wrecked him? He just returned the favour.

I can hear his ragged breathing start to slow as I try to calm my own, reaching to push back the wayward strands of hair hanging in front of my face.

"Christ, Naughty One. What the fuck are you doing to me?" he asks as I try to float back to reality.

"It was your idea," I manage to answer, which earns me a deep laugh.

"I have some good ones every now and then."

"Mhmm..." It's all I can manage.I'm shattered...rendered a quivering mess not once, but twice now in the space of a few hours by this man. I take a much-needed breath in and realize that despite how incredible that felt, it pales in comparison to his touch, the flex of his thighs as we rocked together, the warmth of his breath on my skin.

What am _I _doing _him_? What the hell is he doing to me?

"That was a very good idea."

I nod, my eyes blinking open, willing my racing heart to calm. "I agree with that."

"So... Tomorrow?" he asks quietly. The word hangs heavy in the airwaves between us.

"It_ is_ tomorrow."

I hear faint movement of water, and I lift the phone to my ear, taking him off speaker. "Same time?"

"No."

"No?" He sounds a little surprised. Cocky fucker.

"No. I'm busy tomorrow. You know with the truck and everything. First day." That and I really don't think it's a good idea for me to be within a five mile radius of him. He's dangerously addictive and I don't want to appear to be _that_ girl - easy and available whenever he wants. _Right! Because that wasn't you at all tonight now, was it?_

"You're going to be handing out soft serve in the middle of the night?" he asks sarcastically.

"You never know."

"What I do know is that this is a small town, Naughty One. I'll find you eventually." It's a dark and sensual statement that falls somewhere between a promise and a threat. It sends a shiver of excitement through me even though I shouldn't be having this conversation, let alone thinking about what's next with him. No in the now.

"No regrets?" he asks. The question seems to be important for him, whether it's to clear his conscious so he can move on, or whether he sincerely cares remains to be seen. Regrets? No. I can honestly say I don't have any. A man hasn't affected me this much in a very long time. It's a fact that is kind of sad given that I barely know him and he's managed to take me places my previous boyfriends, who I knew extremely well, never could.

"None."

"Then dream sweet, Naughty One."

I want to have a sarcastic comeback, but I'm speechless. So, I do the only thing I can and disconnect. Powering down the phone to avoid further temptation, I set my glasses on the nightstand, switch off the light and sink back to the bed, painfully aware of every movement. Every brush of the covers over my skin, every shaky breath I take only reminds me of him.

I hold onto my mantra of _live in the now_ like a lifeline. Tomorrow, I may be swamped with embarrassment about what I've done tonight, but now... Now I'll savour the feeling and live with no regrets. Wanton and wanted is a damn good way to fall asleep.

_**KINK**_

_**Edward**_

"Is it almost done?" Jasper asks over the sound of Freddie Mercury's voice that's currently cranked to decibels that could cause actual harm.

_Here we stand, or here we fall_

_History won't care at all_

Everything seems heightened today, the music, the number of toothpicks I've gone through, the intensity of my work. It's all a fucking rage of emotion as I try to keep focused. Note I said '_try'_... I'm not sure if I'm succeeding or not.

I'm operating on maybe three hours of sleep, if I'm very lucky. Every thought I've had has been invaded, overtaken by the extremely vivid memories of my Naughty One. I can't even keep her out of my dreams. She was there- hot, wet, and fucking irresistible.

I even found myself driving past Newton's sorry excuse for an apartment building... _her_ apartment, on my way to open Kink this morning. The ice cream truck was there - all pristine and waiting. It was fucking tempting to break into it and wait for her inside. Believe me, I thought about it, but I recognize that is pushing my luck way too far. It's also beyond borderline stalker behaviour. I've been on the receiving end of that. It's not a fucking good feeling.

So, I've done the only thing I can; I've thrown myself into my work. I'm easily lost at the best of times back here in the shop, and today, I'm happy to ride a journey wherever Freddie will take me. It appears that this afternoon, that's to a fucking whirlwind of vibrant and edgy brush strokes.

I'm fuelled by what happened last night. Her breathy voice on the phone, the feel of her tight little body shuddering around me, the intricate lines of blue that I need to see more of.I've tried to duplicate the depth of the colour inked into her skin that I got a glimpse of. It's now laid bare on the bike Jasper is riding in the race this weekend. I wonder what she would think of it if she saw it.

I lift the bike to the rack to dry, securing it in place, and stand back to admire my work.I've spent the better part of the day immersed inthis, glad to have the distraction...fucking _needing_the distraction.

"Holy shit, Edward. It looks amazing," Jasper shouts almost in awe, moving to circle the bike.

I reach over to turn down the Queen classic currently filling the shop. "You sound surprised. Jesus, man, give me some fucking credit. It's not my first day at the rodeo."

He grins at me before taking a better look at the complexlines of cobalt blue that run in sharp contrast to the metallic silver frame of his bike. I don't want to tell him where the inspiration came from.I'm still trying to come to grips with it myself. "It almost looks like it's alive," he marvels.

I nod, moving to start the cleanup process of the small brushes. "That's the general idea. Alive." Just like she's made me feel. Alive, on edge, distracted - it's not a good combination for me, or maybe it is. Fuck, I need a cigarette. That would help me clear my head. I curse this stupid fucking bet I made with Jasper once more.

"I think this is one of the best you've done."

"A lot better than the first one we did. Remember that?" He laughs, moving to join me at the sink.

"You are way too hard on yourself. It was fantastic. It put this place on the map. Don't knock your early stuff."

"_You_ put us on the map, winning that race, J." I hit him in the shoulder, and he shakes his head. "Anyway, I've learned a lot since then." I finish rinsing the brushes, and set them to dry, aware of his amused expression as he leans against the counter, arms crossed. "What the fuck is it? Spit it out."

"Mmm... I couldn't help but notice you and Bella were...What's the word I want to use?" His smirk widens. "_Absent_ from the bonfire for a while last night." He lifts a brow as I fish another toothpick from the pack stored in my back pocket, popping it into my mouth.

"What's your fucking point?"

He shakes his head. "And you say you've learned a lot."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You don't have any goddamn idea what happened last night."

"I knew it."

"You don't know shit." I chuckle and move back to the store.

"So tell me," he presses, following along behind me.

"No." I move to the front counter, logging into the computer and pulling up the calendar of appointments for the rest of the week even though I don't need to.

"You fucked her, didn't you?" he asks bluntly.

"Not having this conversation." I completely ignore him, scanning the schedule.

"Man, I like her. Alice likes her. Hell, even Rose likes her. She's new in town. You couldn't leave her alone, could you?" He actually sounds like he's whining.

I look up from the computer, glaring at him. "I don't recall needing your fucking permission, Jasper. And since when do you give a fuck about this shit?"

He holds both hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, man. It's none of my business."

"You're goddamn right it's not."

"It's just... She seems like a nice person. Maybe take her out. You know? On an actual date. When was the last time you did that?"

I move from behind the counter, clapping his shoulder. "Thanks for the dating advice, _Dad_. Can you also get me a box of condoms from the store and buy some beer for me at the Liquor Mart?"

He's clearly amused and offers me a smirk. "I'll see what I can do."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"Mhmm... Just in case you're wondering, her truck is set up beside the boardwalk. Looks like she's having a good first day," he offers, trying to sound casual.

"Thanks for the intel, 007."

I shake my head, the damn bells on the door ringing as it opens. I don't like to admit that I'm disappointed it's not Naughty One. I chew harder on the toothpick, my eyes falling to Julia as she saunters into the shop.

She offers me a small smile, looking extremely fucking nervous. She's dressed in next to nothing, clearly taking a break from the beach, but looking a little worse for the wear. Her hair is all messy and piled on top of her head, like she couldn't be bothered doing anything about it when she got up. She looks pale and well... hung over in a very bad way.

She has on a pair of grey shorts that are virtually non-existent, and a white see-through t-shirt that does nothing to hide the red bikini top underneath. I take a scan of the length of her body, enjoying the view until I get to the blood red high heels. This is what she wears to the beach? Don't get me wrong, a pair of killer heels are fucking awesome when worn at the right time - say by Naughty One when she's spread out on the hood of my car wearing nothing else - but for the beach? Just no.

"Hey, Julia. How are you feeling today?" I ask with a grin. Her hangover must be fucking brutal. That much alcohol consumed is never a good thing. We've all had those nights, though most of mine happened in high school.

"Once I got some greasy food into me, I was fine," she lies. I can tell she's not exactly fine, though she is putting on a good show.

"Mmm... Poutine and burgers are always the answer," Jasper chimes in beside me. I nod in agreement. I can't count the number of times Emmett and I have sat at _Smoke's Poutinerie_ devouring poutine in every possible combination after a night of debauchery. It's a miracle cure if there ever was one.

"I wanted to apologize for last night," she starts, completely ignoring Jasper."I feel awful about it. I know you called us a cab and that was really sweet of you. I'd like to pay you back, you know? I'm sure you had quite the mess to clean up." She blinks at me rapidly, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to be seductive. She'd like to pay me back, would she? Mhmm. I just bet she would.

I chuckle, leaning an elbow on the counter as she shifts nervously. "It wasn't that bad. I've seen worse." I level a look at Jasper, and he laughs with me. We've also had our fair share of drunken depravity together. He knows exactly what I'm talking about. It's all fun and games until someone wakes up in a canoe completely trashed in the middle of Lake Winnipeg.

She smiles, looking relieved. "So what do you say? Can I buy you a drink or something?"

Jasper's throat clearing does nothing to lessen the awkwardness of this situation.

"You really want another drink after last night?" I ask, lifting a brow.

She laughs, a high-pitched, ear-shattering laugh like a hyena or something, and I cringe. "Okay, maybe not an alcoholic drink."

"How about ice cream?"

Jasper kicks me in the back of the leg, and I turn to smirk at him.

"Ice cream sounds really great," she says, practically vibrating on the spot.

"Mmm... I think so too. And I know a really great place."

* * *

Chapter end notes:

Oh, Edward...

Hammer To Fall - Queen (I think I may have mentioned my intense love for the best rock band of all time, but it needs to be repeated here.)- Lyrics by Brian May. If you don't have Queen on your playlist, you need to fix that immediately.

Smoke's Poutinerie - A restaurant specializing in what else-poutine. Canadian classic - Fries, seasoning,gravy,curds,assorted wild toppings. It's practically health food. Yeah, right. Try it if you get a chance.

Up next Monday - A trip to an ice cream truck, a bike race... All sounds totally innocent, right? Mhmm.

You're all going to Nashville, right? See you there!

Twitter: CarLemon


	9. Chapter 9

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Check out her latest completed story, Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Exciting news! Kink is going to be the Featured Favorite this week on TwiFicTrivia (Twitter: Just4TFT). I may have let out a scream that only dogs can hear.

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. You all make my day, but have a little faith! :)

Onward with chapter 9.

Come, join me.

* * *

Chapter 9

_**Bella**_

I distinctly remember the summer after my first year at Ottawa U. It was hotter than hell in the tiny apartment that was about the size of a matchbox above the tattoo shop. Dad let me stay there for free, so it's hard to complain about it, but I'm going to.

It had exactly three windows, only one of which opened, allowing the lovely humid air to linger in a way that only disgusting humid, summer air can. It seeps into everything- your clothes, your sheets, and your hair. It makes you cranky and angry. You buy fans that promise to make everything better in your sweatshop of an apartment. It's all lies by the evil marketing geniuses at Canadian Tire. No matter how many fans you buy, they only serve to move the repulsive air around in the oven you live in.

You head outside, seeking relief anywhere you can find -the frozen food section of Loblaws, the overly air conditioned Rideau Centre, anywhere that has AC. Your relief is short lived. Inevitably, you must go back to the sad reality that is your sauna.

It's actually a bit worse once you've been in manufactured cold zones. It only serves to heighten the nauseatingly hot air. You don't sleep well. You toss and turn in bed, unable to get any relief that lasts more than a few fleeting minutes. You wake up agitated and sweaty, and it's only seven a.m.

I thought I was going to die that summer. I thought there wasn't anything that could be worse than the sweltering heat of that apartment. I was wrong.

I'm leaning out of the window of the _Creamy Dream, _practically gasping to take in fresh air- _any_ air that isn't stifling. I never would have associated ice cream with this kind of heat, but clearly, I know nothing. The truck is a sauna, a cramped space, with little ventilation and the constant hum of the soft serve machine that is now permanently planted in my brain.

The day started out great- well, besides not hearing from my Casanova- but I'm trying not to dwell on that at the moment. I was happily cruising suburbia, the light, old-time music blaring from the truck. Doors opened rapidly. Kids emerged, seemingly from out of nowhere, racing down the street, waving their hands and shouting for me to stop. The truck was practically swarmed, and it was only eleven a.m.

I did receive a few dirty looks from soccer moms who were clearly questioning why an ice cream truck would be making an appearance at this time in the morning. God forbid their children should indulge in anything outside of their regimented meals. I didn't care. Seeing the looks on their faces as they clamoured to get to the window, and then took their first bite of cold, creamy goodness was all I needed.

We can learn a lot from kids. It's the simple things in life that should make us happy. That first taste of ice cream on a hot day, when summer is just beginning. Sitting on the curb as it drips over your hand and lands in tiny pools on the pavement. What in our lives as adults brings us this much joy?

But now? Now, at almost six p.m., things are very different. I'd like to stick my head into the freezer and never come out. My hair is a tornado trying to be tamed by a flimsy elastic, little wisps peeking out and sticking to my face just because they can. I can feel a thin trickle of sweat slowly inching down my back.

I feel gross, grungy, and annoyed. It's not a good combination. I know I shouldn't be complaining. The line outside the truck seems to be endless and this, I know, is a good thing. Thank fuck people like their ice cream. It's one of the very few things you can count on in life. Maybe I'll write a book about it-_Solving The World's Problems One Soft Serve At A Tim_e. I cackle out the window. I'm clearly losing my mind. The heat has gone to my head and nothing makes sense anymore. My entire body aches. It has since I woke this morning and now, after nearly eight hours of serving out cones to the entire population of Selkirk, I feel like I could collapse.

This morning... it seems like a lifetime ago when I awoke, my thigh muscles complaining from the previous night's activities. After a much-needed shower that did little to erase the memories of Edward, I made a beeline for the Tim Hortons drive through. Coffee, glorious coffeewas needed. Stat. I really don't function well in the morning without caffeine pumping through my veins, particularly after a night like that. Truth be told, I've never actually had a night like that. One-night stands? Yes. Taken to places you only read about? No. The experience has done things to me, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Caffeine fix satisfied, I sat in the parking lot and finally turned my phone on. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't nothing. That's what I got from him. _Nothing. _No text, no voice mail- though that may have put me over the edge. It's like it never happened, though the tingling ache that remains between my thighs reminds me it did.

So, I tried to push away the nagging feeling of being disappointed to concentrate on the task at hand. I may not be what he wants, but I can make a whole hell of a lot of people happy with this truck, and damn if I didn't do just that.

Throughout the day, I've been surprised with visits from quite a few people who were at the bonfire. Emmett and Rose stopped by when I was parked at the Marine Museum. Rose wondered why I wasn't wearing the Viking helmet she threw in when I purchased the tank top yesterday. I burst out laughing at the suggestion until I realized she wasn't kidding. Emmett actually thought it would stir up more of a crowd. "Kind of like a little gimmick," he offered in total seriousness. "You know, like Don Cherry with his bad suits."I've been speechless a lot since arriving here and this, yet again, was one of those times.

Shortly after promising I'd at least think about wearing the helmet, Alice arrived with a set of colourful bells she said would bring good luck. She proceeded to hang them so they chime every single time I pass over a cone through the open window.

It really was a sweet gesture, and I found myself smiling at their sound. Until right about now. Now, I want to rip them down and hurl them into the Red River. I do realize that is the sheer heat and exhaustion talking, but believe me, it's tempting.

The visits continued over the afternoon with Mrs. Cope and a group of her city hall workers, trundling out for a cone and chattering away as if they had known me my entire life. Jane's been by and promises to hang up posters for the _Creamy Dream _if I can get some printed. Hell, Mike has even been by... twice. I'm trying not to dwell on those particular visits. His _Days of Thunder_ sunglasses straight from the nineties and the perma-white manufactured smile only add to his general level of creepiness.

All of these people have stopped by to wish me luck and show their support, but no sign of the one I can't stop thinking about. And I've tried. Believe me. I. Have. Tried. Unfortunately, everything seems to remind me of him.

I need to down about a litre of water to hydrate myself. Water...which leads me to the boathouse...which leads me to the Jet Ski... which leads me to...

Maybe something stronger? Vodka. Which leads me to the gummy bears... which leads me to the feel of his soft lips as they brushed my fingers when he sampled that first one... which leads me to...

Okay, maybe I just needrest? My bed. Which leads me to a middle of the night phone call... which leads me to the enticing sound of his deep, sexy voice... which leads me to... You guessed it.

"Fuck!" I shout at the top of my lungs in utter frustration. Immediately, I cover my mouth, frantically looking from side to side, and see a wide-eyed little boy, maybe ten years old, in a soccer uniform and wearing thick glasses, his mouth dropped open.

"You didn't hear that!"

"I did! You said the F-word!" he whisper-yells, taking a stealthy look over his shoulder.

"No! No! You misheard me. I said...Fudge! Here. You can have some on top of your cone for free." I scramble to the liquid fudge topping, hoping to hell I have some left.

"Maybe you should give me the whole cone for free." His sweet little voice drifts through the window, and I turn back with a grin, lifting a brow, impressed at this little entrepreneur.

"Oh you do, huh? A whole free cone?"

He nods quickly, giving me the big brown puppy dog eyes that are amplified a million times by his glasses. Of course I'm doing this. Who could say no to him?

"And this stays between you and me? I can't have everyone coming and getting free ice cream." I try to put my serious face on, leaning an arm on the frame of the window.

"Just mine," he says, his eyes lighting up.

"You've got a deal, kid." I hold my hand out the window and down to him, grinning as he slips his little palm into mine and shakes it firmly. "One cone with fudge topping coming right the house."

And just like that, my foul and annoyed mood changes. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and it's contagious. The look on his face is enough to make my borderline heatstroke worth it. I carefully make the cone and dip it in extra fudge, spooning out a healthy serving of sprinkles over the top.

I watch him with a smile as he races back to his parents with the cone. It 's like he's won the lottery. He turns and gives me an enthusiastic wave, and his parents do the same. I wave back, watching them happily wander away down the boardwalk.

Parents spend a fortune trying to make their kids happy. Countless video games. Untold thousands dropped on various sporting teams and the latest and greatest associated equipment. Expensive trips to cram in as much as humanly possible into a hectic and short vacation. Turns out, all you need is a free ice cream every now and then.

I can't seem to get rid of the grin as I work to wipe down the machines and counters. I turn off the endless loop of children's classic tunes and switch the radio on, pressing a few buttons until I hear a familiar Hedley melody.

It seems damn fitting right now.

_Forces you just can't fight  
You're trouble but it's alright_

I shake my head, singing along. Edward is trouble. Big trouble. I know this. The rational, level-headed side of me knows this all too well. Hell, I could probably write another thesis about just how much trouble he really is. That doesn't change the way he made me feel last night... or how that feeling has lingered with me all day, or the fact that I'd like to indulge in him again. Maybe I was too quick to brush him off at his suggestion last night.

I gaze out to the boardwalk while I consider this, seeing a couple in the distance, strolling blissfully along towards my truck. I chuckle at the woman who loses her footing, the heel of her ridiculous stiletto getting caught in the slats between the wooden boards. The man reaches an arm out, wrapping it around her waist to keep her from falling. Chivalry isn't dead it appears.

Maybe I should call my Casanova. Under the carefully constructed I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude he puts out there for everyone to see, I know there's something very different inside him. I close my eyes, unable to stop the erotic memories that come crashing back to me from last night. Maybe I should ca-

And then, I hear it. That distinctive, raspy, tempting tone that pushed me so far over the edge last night, I may never recover. With my heart racing, I narrow my eyes in the direction of the couple. He wouldn't fucking dare. Would he? Of course he would.

The world stops turning as they move to the edge of the boardwalk. There is no mistaking that giggle. I heard it last night- only it was intoxicated, high pitched, and he seemed annoyed by it then.

Today apparently, in the waning hours of daylight, he's amused by little drunken Julia. Only she's no longer drunk. Her hand grazes over his firm chest, and he does nothing to stop her. As they close the distance to my truck, she blinks up at him like he's the only man in the entire world.

My gaze travels over his lean form as I remember how it felt to feel his body pressed to mine in the most sensual of ways, and I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time. I'm jealous even though I have no right to be. I have absolutely zero claim on this man. I try to push back the annoying thought of wanting to have one.

Turning away from the window, I try to focus on anything but the sound of his enticing voice drifting to me and the knowledge that he's got his arm around another obviously willing woman less than twenty-four hours after we-

"A large vanilla please." I welcome the interruption of yet another customer to my wandering thoughts. I ride the uninvited wave of disappointment that washes over me.

No regrets? I didn't think I'd have any until right now.

_**KINK**_

_**Edward**_

Julia is nattering away about a weekend of camping, the details of which are sketchy at best. I can't focus on a single goddamn thing she's saying. The only thing that I can see, the only thing that seems to matter is that I'm treated to glimpses of my Naughty One. She's moving around inside the truck, talking to each and every person in the never ending line that snakes around the _Creamy Dream _and onto the boardwalk_._

And the closer we inch up in the line, the worse this feeling deep in the pit of my fucking stomach gets. I shouldn't be doing this. I curse the sudden emergence of a conscious. Of course, it has to fucking appear now. Why the fuck now? I'm not sure I have all the answers to that, but I'm damn sure it has everything to do with her. She 's gotten under my skin in a way few women have before.

I can hear her laugh, though it doesn't sound genuine like it did last night. I get occasional flashes of the lines of ink on her arm as she passes over cone after cone. She doesn't seem bothered at all by the chaos of kids that hover around in the window in varying states of whining and shouting. In fact, she seems to enjoy it.

I told her last night there was something about her. Something that draws me in and makes me want to learn more. So what the hell am I doing here with Julia? Maybe it's the brush off she gave me last night. Is that all this is? The chase? The excitement? The anticipation?

"Edward?" I'm brought back to reality as Julia's hand tightens around my bicep.

"Hmm?" I glance down at her, seeing a familiar look of longing.

"You haven't heard a single word I've just said, have you?"

I shake my head."Sorry. No."

"Is there something wrong?" she asks, blinking up at me.

I pull her out of the line and off to the side, away from the truck. "We shouldn't do this."

"This?" She gestures to the truck, lifting a brow. "It's just ice cream," she states.

"No it's not. I'm being an asshole." I go with the truth.

"Because you want to get ice cream?" She looks at me like I'm fucking crazy and she's probably right.

I nod, raking my hand through my hair. "Julia, you're a nice girl, I just - "

The look of longing changes quickly to one of disappointment. "Oh. I get it. Say no more. At least we didn't... you know. _That_ would have been awkward." She lets out a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry," I offer. Fuck, I'm an idiot. What the hell was I thinking? Let's hope Julia's not some psycho who likes to cause scenes. I really don't need that shit right now, though it would be all my fault, and I probably have it coming.

"That's okay," she says, waving me off as she starts to back away. "I appreciate the honesty. And maybe I'll see you around sometime. The girls and I are here for a few weeks, and well... you never know. You might change your mind."

"You never know," I reply, even though I'm very fucking sure I do know.

She gives me a little wave, and turns away, twisting a bit in her high heels she has no business wearing, making a beeline back to the boardwalk.

Huh. That was relatively painless. I hope to fuck she's not some closet stalker. She seems normal enough, but don't they all at first?

I contemplate stepping back into line and waiting to talk to Bella, but the line has grown even more at this point. Jasper was right. She's having a kick ass first day.

Reluctantly, I move away from the truck and start to make my way back to Kink. Her laughter drifts to me, and it takes just about everything in me not to turn around. But, I need to check on the drying job on Jasper's bike and see if Emmett is still on schedule with his repairs for the day. If left to his own devices, who the fuck knows what he'll get up to. Besides, the conversation I know I need to have with Naughty One will take time... If we get around to having a conversation at all.

_**KINK**_

It's fucking dark by the time I send Emmett home and lock up Kink for the night. Of course, Murphy's fucking law- on the one day I wanted to get the fuck out of work, we're slammed with emergency repairs. It's good for the wallet. Not so much for the plans I had that involved one brunette that I can't stop thinking about.

I'm not even sure if she's still going to be parked where she was earlier today. But this is Hellkirk. It won't take long to find her. I did say I would, and I don't break promises.

Making my way down the aged and worn boardwalk, I see her truck highlighted under the muted glow of the street lamp. I feel the spark of anticipation that has been boiling under the surface all fucking day, the adrenaline kicking in as I close the distance to the truck.

I falter on the way, my eyes narrowing as I distinctly see some fucker way too close for comfort to her. It looks like she's pinned up against the front door of the truck. Some baser instinct takes over and before I can stop myself, I'm picking up the pace, my hands balled into fists, heart pounding harder with each step I take.

I'm laser-focused on them, muscles coiled, ready to take control. Naughty One looks unimpressed by this asshole's presence to say the least, and a few more steps closer only fuels my rage.

Mike. Fucking. Newton.

The slimeball is currently trailing the neon coloured arm of his sunglasses over the chaos of ink on her arm. She shrinks back slightly at the contact, but maintains the scowl. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. Even I can see that from a distance. Why the hell doesn't he?

"What the fuck are you doing?" I don't recognize my own voice. It comes out as an animalistic growl, and he wisely takes a step back from her as I stop a few feet from him. Something raw and possessive has taken over, and I cock my head to him.

Newton shifts nervously, his almost blindingly white high-tops shuffling back against the gravel beneath his feet.

"Is he bothering you?" I ask, my focus never wavering from Newton. His eyes grow about the size of fucking plates and he breaks my gaze, looking back to Bella like he's asking for her help. Fucking coward.

"I can handle -"

"Is he fucking bothering you?" My voice rises, every muscle coiled and ready to strike.

"She's not bothered," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Um... _She's_ standing right here, and actually she is bothered." It's hard not to smirk at the tone of annoyance in her voice.

"You heard her, Newton."

"Edward, I can handle this."

Mike looks between the two of us as I fight to hold on to some thread of sanity. It's slipping very fucking fast. "Wait a minute. Did you fuck him?" he asks as if that's a concept he can't quite grasp or believe. Like I'm not good enough for her.

And that's it. I've had enough of this shit, and I fucking snap. I vault myself at him, my shoulder making impact with his chest as I haul him to the ground. I'm vaguely aware that Bella is shouting, but I can't even register what she's saying. Newton needs to learn his fucking place, and it sure as fuck is nowhere within a forty mile radius of her.

He's gotten softer since the last fight we had, and his back hits the gravel with a resounding thud. It all becomes an adrenaline fuelled blur from there. There's arm flailing by him as he tries unsuccessfully to push me off.

He squeals like a girl as my fist makes contact with his jaw, and I unleash all of my pent up anger and frustration. He brings up both hands to try to block me, not before landing a quick shot to my balls in the process.

I try to block out the searing pain, throwing a hard jab to his ribs, and then I feel a tiny hand fisting my shirt and tugging. "Edward..." Her panicked voice manages to cut through my haze of rage, and I lift off the sorry excuse of a man, glaring down at him.

"If you so much as look at her the wrong the way, Newton..." My voice is strangled and broken, like I've run a marathon or something.

He holds both hands up from his position on the gravel, slowly pushing up to stand. "My bad, Cullen. I didn't realize she was yours." He winces, his hand running over the red mark on his jaw. That will bruise nicely I think, fucking asshole.

I shift uncomfortably, the numbing ache in my balls radiating. What a fucking pussy. Hitting me in the balls? Seriously? From past experience, I know Newton hasn't got a clue how to fight, but come on.

"_She's_ not anyone's." Bella's edgy voice does nothing to soothe to me. I want her to be mine. That much is very fucking clear now if it wasn't before. My chest heaves as I struggle against the instinct to beat the living shit out of him. I feel her hand slide up my arm and over the bottom of the crest tattoo, my muscles flexing under her touch.

"Let it go," she says quietly.

I cut my eyes from Newton to her, seeing concern, heat, and excitement. She's fucking turned on, her big brown eyes drinking me in like she wants to devour me. A mumbled, "Fuck," falls from my lips and the corners of her mouth turn up. What I'd like to do to that mouth.

Newton clears his throat, bringing me back to reality. I level him a look. "I mean it, Mike. Stay the fuck away from her." Her fingers tighten around my bicep as the words leave my mouth.

"I got it. No harm done, man. I'd say we're even." He smirks at me, his eyes lowering to my belt as he rubs his jaw. He has no idea how far from even we are.

As he gathers his cheap sunglasses from the gravel and slinks away like the snake he is, I open and shut my hand repeatedly, hoping to fuck it isn't bruised or worse. How fucking idiotic would I be if I was out of commission from my job because of a fight? Though, it would be worth it. Seeing the look on her face makes it worth it.

I keep my gaze locked to him as he climbs into his absurd, gas guzzling white Cadillac parked behind the ice cream truck. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten bull horns to mount on the hood of his stupid car. I wouldn't put it past him.

He gives us a nervous wave and then disappears, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. I feel the tension ease only slightly as the sound of the engine fades into the blackened night.

"That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen." I fight between wincing from the dull ache in my balls and smirking as I stare down at her.

"_This_ is the hottest thing you've seen? Me getting hit in the balls?" I ask in amusement, lifting a brow.

"No, you idiot. Someone standing up for me..._You _standing up for me. No one has ever done that before. Not like this."

"What did I tell you last night, Naughty One?"

She lifts a brow, taking a step back from me. "You said a lot of things last night."

"Mmm... Maybe you haven't been with the right guys."

She wets her bottom lip, her gaze intense and hungry. "And you think you might be the right one?"

Without hesitation, I lean forward, breathing her in like she's the air I need. "I think I'd like to find out. The question is, Naughty One, do you?"

* * *

Chapter end notes:

_Canadian Tire_ - Iconic Canadian hardware/automotive parts store that now sells everything from bread and milk to motor oil and lawn mowers.

_Loblaws_ - Massive Canadian grocery store chain. Annoyingly busy at the best of times.

_Rideau Centre_ - Iconic shopping centre in downtown Ottawa. A nightmare to find parking, but so worth it-particularly if you have a shoe problem... not that I have one.

_Days of Thunder_ sunglasses- I hope you're old enough to remember these. If not, Google them. They were Ray Ban-like, had neon green, pink or yellow arms with black frames. You could get them at Burger King in 1990 when Tom Cruise decided he wanted to drive race cars around like an idiot.

_Crazy For You_ - by the fantastic and Canadian Hedley - See them in concert if you can. Loads of fun.

Next Monday - A plan and Jasper's bike race. Sounds innocent enough, right? Mhmm.

In case you missed it at the top, Kink is going to be the Featured Favorite this week on TwiFicTrivia (Twitter: Just4TFT). :)

Are you counting down to Nashville like I am? 18 days to go! Woo Hoo!

Twitter: CarLemon


	10. Chapter 10

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author.

A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Check out her latest completed story, Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. It means the world to me.

Onward with chapter 10! Oh, and only 10 more days to go until #TFMU! - See what I did there?

Come, join me.

* * *

Chapter 10

_**Bella**_

We stand under the muted, amber glow of the streetlight, his chest still heaving as his heated and quite honestly dangerous gaze locks to mine. What I said to him was true. I've never had anyone do anything like that because of me. Not that I can't take care of myself. I damn well can, and that display of testosterone-fuelled jealousy I just witnessed shouldn't turn me on, but God help me it did.

Edward radiates intensity, his hair messed and sticking up, muscles coiled and ready to unleash. How insanely hot would sex with Edward be when he's this riled up?His gaze shifts to my lips as he leans forward. I can almost taste him, and I feel the anticipation fire within me once more. "What do you say? Interested in finding out if I'm the right guy?" His deep, erotic voice breaks the silence and seeps deep inside me.

"I don't know. I mean... I'm not sure about you." The thing is, I really want to be sure. I don't want to have regrets like he told me I shouldn't, like I've had so many times before.

He nods, the corners of his mouth curling up into that familiar smirk. "Honesty. I like it."

He likes honesty? Let's see how he does in that area."You do, huh? Mind telling me what you were doing with Julia earlier today?"

He frowns slightly, taking a step back. "You saw that, huh?"

I lift a brow. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"That was me being an asshole and, for what it's worth, you have no idea how sorry I am for that." I'm a little taken back by his admission and the sincerity in his voice. I wasn't expecting this, and again I'm reminded that I shouldn't have expectations where Edward, or any man for that matter, is concerned. "But tell me did it make you feel?" He matches my raised brow.

"Probably the same way you felt when you saw Mike."

His eyes darken slightly, his jaw tensing as he buries away some intense emotion. "You wanted to scratch her eyes out. Cat fight, maybe? Damn, that would have been fucking hot to see." I shake my head, unable to hold back my grin. "I told you I'd never lie to you, remember?"

"I had that situation with Mike under control, just so you know."

"Mhmm... Sure you did." He opens and closes his hand a few times, turning it over. I can't resist leaning forward and taking his hand between both of mine. I don't dare look up at him, instead I study his long fingers, and the stinging red marks rising slightly on his knuckles from where he made impact with Mike's jaw.

I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, slowly drinking me in as I gently brush my thumb over his hand, lifting my eyes to his."Mike is harmless. Annoying as hell, but harmless."

He narrows his eyes, unconvinced. "It didn't look harmless from where I was standing," he comments, his voice rough.

Lowering his hand, I take a much-needed step back. I can feel the pull, the enticing lure of attraction that rolls off him in waves, reaching out to draw me in, threatening to drown me in the process. "Yeah? Well, things aren't always what they seem."

"Isn't that the fucking truth."

"Look, I can handle myself. I spent most of my teenage years with bikers who define the word _badass_. My dad taught me how to take jerks like Mike down in a heartbeat, so don't think for one second that I can't fight my own battles." I poke him in the chest and he flashes me a grin. He's clearly amused with my rambling.

"Maybe I don't want you to."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"Well, you see," he starts, closing the distance between us once more."It turns out, I can't stop thinking about this unforgettable woman I was with last night. She's someone I need to get to know better. Much better."

I inwardly curse my visceral reaction to him. He knows exactly what to say to me, but I need to keep a level head here. "So, I'm a conquest to you? A challenge? Thanks, but no. Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt as a consolation prize." Even I can hear the condescension in my voice.

"That's not what this is. And if you'll remember, I've had you, Naughty One, and I want more. A lot more."

My mouth goes dry, staring back at him. "More of what?"

"You. Any way I can have you."

"So, this is just about sex?" I ask, unsure of what I want his actual answer to be.

"I didn't say that, but I do love how your beautiful, dirty mind works. Always going right to the gutter."

"Ass," I mumble under my breath.

He smirks, deliberately craning his neck to check out my ass. "Mhmm. I told you we'd get to that."

I bite back a laugh. He makes it almost impossible to stay mad at him. Giving my head a much needed shake, I try to focus. "And what happens when you get tired of this? Of me?" I move my hand between us, planting my palm in the middle of his chest, feeling his muscles flex under his shirt.

"I didn't exactly picture you a planner, Naughty One," he notes, his voice thick with want.

"I'm not. Believe me. But I've only been here a couple of days and I've already...and you're, well, you!" I ramble, annoyed that I can't seem to control my instinctual reaction to him. I feel the ache, the reckless impulse that burns through me and kicks my heart into overdrive.

He lets out a deep chuckle. "And that's bad?"

"Yes! No... I don't fucking know. I can't think around you."

"Mmm... Then don't think. Just do. Go with your instinct." He pauses, lifting his fingers to trace my jaw, pulling the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, making it almost impossible to resist him. I know I should. I have a feeling that Edward could do some serious damage to my heart. I need some distance from him right now. I know with absolute certainty what will happen if I stay any longer. And while it will be intense and give us what we both want, I also know how I'll feel in the morning- confused and aching for more. "What does it tell you, hmm?"

"That I should go home," I whisper. There's no mistaking the disappointment in his face as my words hang in the air.

With the air electrified between us, he reaches behind his back, opening the driver's side door to the truck, his eyes locked to mine. "I'm a patient man."

"So you've said." I brush past him, inhaling the scent that is uniquely Edward. _You will not push him up against the side of the truck and launch yourself at him. _But fuck if I don't want to.I climb up into the truck and sink to the driver's seat. He shuts the door once I'm inside, turning to lean against the frame of the open window.

_Yes, a barrier between us. That's what we need. It's safer this way._

"Call me when you get home. I'll-"

"Worry?"I grin, meeting his steady gaze as I fight the conflicting emotions raging within me.

He nods seriously. "Mhmm. And make sure you lock your door."

I roll my eyes. "It has a deadbolt."

"Good. And if he shows up-"

"I'll handle it," I interrupt him. He lifts a brow, not looking impressed with that answer, but says nothing. I crank the key in the ignition, and the truck hums to life while he stays unmoving from the window. I lean out, lowering my gaze over his torso. "Are you okay? He did get a punch in."

"You could make it feel better," he quips, never missing a beat.

"You never quit, do you?"

"Not in my nature."

"Goodnight, Edward."

He taps his hand twice on the frame of the window, stepping away from the door. "Goodnight, Naughty One. Drive safe."

I swallow back the lump in my throat, stepping on the gas a little too enthusiastically and accelerating away from the boardwalk. I make the mistake of looking in the rear-view mirror, catching sight of him highlighted in the glow of the street lamp. He's unmoving, all lean and intense, his hand raking through his hair as he watches the truck. My hand grips the wheel harder as I fight to not turn around.

I know the physical attraction between us is off the charts, but now he's gone and changed things up on me. Damn him for hinting at something more. Do I really want more? Is he capable of that? Am I? My track record hasn't been great, and judging from what I know, his hasn't been either.

I feel my heart race as flashes of his fight with Mike invade my senses. Edward,all territorial and trying to stake a claim, is a thousand times hotter than it should be. I'm not a woman who needs saving, and Mike was about ten seconds away from understanding just how well I can take care of myself.

I also can't deny that the thought of someone caring enough to want to step up is a welcome one. That's never happened before. I weave the truck through the all but abandoned streets of town as I consider my exes. I don't think a single one of them gave a shit enough about me to even consider pulling a stunt like Edward did tonight.

Finally pushing the truck into park outside of the apartment building, I look out to the Mac's neon sign as I try to get grip. I don't like this unsettled feeling, or the _what-ifs_ that are running through my head. It's times like these I wish I worked out so I could get lost for a while and clear my head. My alternative to pounding the pavement, hitting weights, or worse, one of those Zumba classes designed to torture you, is music.

Locking up the truck for the night, I grab my purse and shove the day's substantial cash into a plastic Dollarama bag before taking the four flights of stairs to my door. I actually feel a little nervous carrying this much money into what is a rather sketchy building. Also, it needs to be said that loonies and toonies weigh a fucking ton in this kind of volume.

The deadbolt is my friend and with a resounding click, it falls into place. I quickly head into the bedroom, spilling the coins and cash from the Dollarama bag to the middle of the bed and hunt down my headphones. It's time to count money and get lost.

_**KINK**_

_**Edward**_

I lean over slightly once her truck disappears from view, taking a shaky breath. Fucking goddamn Newton. That punch to the balls is fucking killing me. I contemplate heading over to his house to finish the job, but I really don't think that would win me any brownie points where Naughty One is concerned.

I'm also a little worried that he's done some serious damage. I need to get out of these jeans and into my hot tub. I wince as I make my way back down the boardwalk, each step a reminder that I let Newton get a shot in.

It doesn't escape me that I have - if I want - access to more than one nurse who would be only too willing to examine the area in question. I chuckle to myself as I head behind Kink and climb into my Nova. I let out a string of curses under my breath as my jeans constrict against my groin when I sink behind the wheel.

Less than a week ago, I would have acted on the thought of a couple of nurses checking me out, but now... well, now things are different. Unless of course _she'd_ be into joining the nurses, in which case, bring it on. Something tells me however that Naughty One doesn't like to share, and I think I'm okay with that.

Two hours later, I'm soaking in the hot tub, breathing in the cooler night air. It's a rare and welcome break in the damn humidity and right now, I'm very fucking happy about that fact. I drop my head back to the edge of the hot tub, looking up to the stars, my arms stretched out along the sides, the hand that's not throbbing curled around a glass of Crown Royal.

The searing pangs of pain have subsided, thanks to the magic of the hot tub, and I don't think any permanent damage has been done. I hope Newton has a bruise the size of Quebec on his jaw, the fucking asshole.

I can't understand what came over me tonight. It was an instinctual, automatic response, but something I won't regret. I'll kick his ass a thousand ways to Sunday if it means he stays the hell away from her.

I'm going to have to keep an eye on that fucker. I don't like that he owns her building, that he can get into her place any damn time he wants to. It all seems a little too convenient for my liking.

I lift the glass, swirling around the ice and finishing off the rich, amber liquid. I enjoy the delicious burn, but I could really use a fucking cigarette right now.I should have done a countdown on how long I have to go to win this stupid bet with Jasper.

I close my eyes, sinking down further in the heat of the steamy water, welcoming the calm it brings me. I'm not sure how long I soak, but it's all interrupted with the familiar buzz of my iPhone from the cedar deck beside the hot tub. I grin, turning my head to the glow of the display, reaching over and seeing a text from the Naughty One herself.

_Made it home. No worrying required, Rocky._

I chuckle into the darkness of the night.

_Yo, Adrian, I told you I would worry._ I use my best Stallone impersonation out loud as I type a reply and hit send.

It doesn't take long for her response.

_You know, underneath it all, you're really just a big goofball._

I can't help the smirk as I fire off a reply.

_Yes, but could I be your goofball?_

I wait, and wait, and wait some more, my smirk fading with each passing second. I don't exactly blame her for questioning me or having doubts. It's not like I'm the patron saint of relationships here, but she seems like someone who would try to look past that- look beyond the rumours and preconceived notions.

I let out a string of curses at my idiotic behaviour. I didn't exactly help my cause with that move with Julia earlier. But, doesn't apologizing and admitting you were being an asshole count for something? If nothing else, it did get a reaction from her. She must feel something, or she wouldn't give a shit.

Still, I can't deny that it fucking stings that she's turned and ran away from me not once, but twice now. I go over what she said tonight, about this just being about the chase. That is part of it, but the difference this time is now I want more.

Setting the phone back onto the deck, because, let's face it, a watched pot doesn't fucking boil, I push up from the hot tub and reach for one of the folded towels from the deck, running it through my hair and over my torso. The contrasting cool air feels fucking amazing as it hits me, and I wrap the towel around my waist, tucking it in and sinking down to the Muskoka chair on the deck.

Stretching my legs out, I glare at my phone, which remains silent and black for way too long. And now I feel like a pussy for wasting time waiting around for an answer. Maybe I should just go over there. She may be able to hide behind text messages with feisty responses, but when we're face to face, I know she feels the undeniable attraction between us. Fuck, anyone can see it. Even goddamn Newton, who has about four brain cells firing on the best of days, has figured it out.

Annoyed, I push up from the chair and pick up the phone, heading back inside. I stop midstride at the entrance to my bedroom, feeling the phone vibrate in my palm. Glancing down, the words written by Naughty One confuse me even more.

_I don't know. You scare me._

I've had a lot of reactions from women over the years, but this? I've never scared a woman before. That shouldn't ever be a reaction any woman ever has to a man. I'm not even a violent person unless that asshole Newton is in the picture. Then, things are different, but the thought of her being scared by me is more than a little unsettling.

I sit on the edge of the bed, rereading her text and knowing I have to make this right. Of all the emotions I want her to have about me, fear is not and never will be on the list.

_Because I hit Newton?_

This time, her response is almost immediate.

_Because of how it made me feel when you did._

_**KINK**_

I've clenched and unclenched my throbbing hand a million times. My mind is on fucking overdrive. I can't get her out of my head. She's unsure about me? I'm planning on making it my mission to rectify this fucked up situation starting first thing in the morning. No regrets. At least I won't have any. I hope to hell she won't either.

Abandoning the bed, I've made my way out to the living room, sitting in my leather chair in my boxers, unable to sleep, watching the classic film that is _Rocky_. It's two-thirty in the goddamn morning, and I'm watching _Rocky_ because of her.

I've stopped and replayed one scene, over and over. I've watched this film a million times over the years and never really paid attention to this part until now.

"She's got gaps, I got gaps. Together, we fill gaps. I dunno."

I watch the scene again, staring at Rocky as he shifts nervously next to Paulie in the meat freezer, and I wonder if after all this time, I've found the one who can fill mine.

* * *

Chapter end notes

Loonies and toonies- Canadian coins replacing the one and two dollar bills we once had a million years ago.

_Rocky_ -1976- What can I say about this movie? If you haven't seen it recently, watch it again. If you've never seen it, correct that immediately.

Up next Monday, a visit and a break. Sounds simple enough, right?

Twitter - CarLemon


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